About Time
by Triane
Summary: Illogical and unplanned, Iona's life takes an unexpected twist just when it was getting under control again. DagonetOC. Rated M for occasional moments, but bulk of story is more T than not.
1. Chapter 1

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: We meet our heroine, and a life that was just becoming solid again takes a drastic turn in the opposite direction.

* * *

_First years get younger all the time_, Iona thought as she gathered her papers off her office desk. _Younger and dumber._ She shot a quick look at her calendar to reassure herself that her senior classes would start the next day and she could concentrate on her specialties rather than survey courses.

It wasn't that she disliked the new university kids – all of her senior students had taken her survey courses in their first or second year. And it wasn't that she disliked or was tired of the material – Iona of all people understood the need for a good foundation to study further in the Ancient World, or the 'cradle of European civilization' as it was billed in the university course calendar. She still found new interesting details every time she taught it, too. The survey course she had taken in her own first year was the one that set her on the path to becoming the foremost antiquities professor at one of the pre-eminent universities in the UK.

But if she was going to talk about early Britain and Europe and the people in it, her tongue ached to speak in old English and old Saxon and all the other languages she had started learning in her undergrad years and perfected since. And her senior students were better qualified to talk about it with her, and didn't look at her as if she had grown another head when she started speaking Latin.

Also, her senior classes didn't give her seventy five papers on what made Alexander the Great…well, great.

Iona sighed as she took one last look around her office, then flicked off the light and locked the door. _Too bad not all Alexanders were great._

She laughed wryly under her breath as she headed down the hall, carrying on the conversation with herself. _Some Alexanders think they're great when they're really very not. Some Alexanders think they're God's gift to all women, even if they've got one at home. _She felt her purse bump against her hip and remembered her new license, the one she had picked up from the mail that morning – the one with her maiden name back in its rightful place, rather than the watered-down, generic 'Smyth' of her marriage. Not for the first time did she feel a surge of thankfulness that she had kept her maiden name throughout her academic career, so her students knew her and had always known her as Dr. Demetronopolos. And not for the first time was she thankful she lived in a secure building, where the doormen knew what Alex was capable of, and that there was a very large restraining order waiting for him when he got out of jail.

Pausing at the outer doors of the university, Iona buttoned her bomber-length dress jacket and made sure her purse strap was secure on her shoulder. It was only September, but the wind that morning had had a bit of a bite to it. She was also thankful that she lived close enough to the school that she could walk, although she usually began to rue that fact mid-winter.

Humming to herself, Iona started down the street, her mind lazily running over the contents of her pantry as she tried to decide what to make for dinner that night._What I really want,_ she thought to herself, _is to spend the night in the fencing studio._ She smiled slightly as she thought about practicing with her swords. Then she grimaced, as she thought about how little she had been in the studio in the past few months since she was discharged from the hospital. Her arm still gave her twinges every once in a while, and she wanted to be careful about how she went about building up its strength. That was one of the many things Alex had been disdainful of – her ability and love of fighting. He thought women were delicate creatures, who should be at home and not 'prancing about with swords' as he called it. The fact that she could very easily kill him with one of those swords never seemed to enter his mind.

Iona winced as she remembered. _No swords, no knives, nothing. I had nothing to defend myself with. Maybe that's why it happened then, when I was defenceless. When he knew he could have the upper hand, just because he was stronger._ She sighed as she waited to cross the street, wishing – and not for the first time – that she had someone to defend her.

_Not that I need defending. I am more than capable of taking care of myself. It's just that sometimes, when the odds seem stacked against me, it would be nice to have some help. Some knight in shining armour to swoop in and rescue me._ Iona laughed under her breath.

_Yeah, Iona, that's what you need. Some knight, some defender of women and children, with a code of honour and loyalty and chivalry. To treat you like a lady. Like your papa always meant for you to be treated._ She sighed again, this time with regret. Her papa had treated her like a lady, and wanted her to have a husband who would, as well. But Alex fooled him, just like he fooled everyone else in the family. He hid the womanizing, abusive side of himself until the wedding was over and they felt helpless to do anything about it.

_I just wish…_ Iona checked her descent into loneliness and self-pity, reminding herself what she had been through and what she had escaped.

_Well, then, I hope. I hope that someday I'll find some gentle man who treats me the way my papa would want._

Horns blared, and Iona's head snapped around. A truck she hadn't seen was bearing down at her, the driver frantically trying to stop. For a moment all Iona could do was stare, her mind screaming at her, telling her to move, but her body not obeying.

Then suddenly...quiet.


	2. Chapter 2

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Iona takes stock, and things go from bad to worse.

* * *

Not quiet…not exactly, anyways. Just an utter and total absence of any city noise. Her heart almost beating out of her chest, Iona slowly opened her eyes that had somehow clenched themselves shut, and looked around warily.

"Huh." No city noise, because there was no city. No pavement, no skyscrapers, no cars, no road signs. No roads, for that matter. She was standing on the outskirts of the greenest, lushest forest she had ever seen, on the greenest, thickest grass she had ever stood on. And the only thing she could hear was the richest non-silence she had ever heard in her life. She could hear wind, and leaves rustling, and birds singing, and even water running, but no horns honking or people talking.

"Well…. I'm dead. Or dreaming." She fumbled to push up the sleeve of her jacket and reach the bare skin of her arm, where she gave it a hard, decisive pinch that she definitely felt.

"Okay. Dead it is, then." Her purse strap slipped down her arm, so she opened it quickly and rummaged around, grabbing for her mobile phone.

"Excellent. Dead, and with no phone reception. This is just getting better and better." Iona laughed in disbelief at what she just said, and slowly straightened, letting her purse fall out of her hand and removing her jacket to let it drop to the ground as well. She took a deep breath and started thinking through the details, talking out loud like she had when she was writing papers in school.

"Okay, Ai. Figure out what the blazes just happened." She turned in a slow circle to take in all her surroundings, noting all the landmarks she could see from her position.

"Forest to the north and to the east, a plain to the south and the west. Hills. Ocean to the west, as well, and clouds on the horizon. Can't see any islands. It almost looks like the countryside at home, back in…England…" Iona stood stock-still.

"Funny…that view of the ocean looks just like the view from my flat would if there were no buildings." Her heart started to race again as she tried to piece it together.

"Does that mean that England is heaven? Or…"

Before she could finish her thought, she heard a group of voices yelling from somewhere in the forest to her right, prompting her to quickly grab her jacket and purse, and run towards the trees. _So I'm not alone here. Doesn't mean I'm not in danger._ Not bothering to think about the fact that she wouldn't be in danger if she were already dead, Iona kicked her shoes off at the base of a large tree and scaled it quickly, her green pencil skirt ripping up the sides of her legs as she climbed to settle in the branches with her back to the trunk. No sooner had she gotten to her hiding place than a group of about twenty half-naked, blue-painted people rushed out of the forest with bows and swords drawn, dividing instantly into two groups.

Iona watched as they fought savagely, firing bows at point-blank range and hacking at each other with swords, glad now that she hadn't stopped to see if their voices were friendly. The absolute absurdity of her situation threatened to make her burst into hysterical giggles, but she pushed them down and concentrated on the people on the plain. She couldn't pick out exactly what they were yelling, but it definitely didn't sound like English. _Almost…Gaelic or Welsh. Old Welsh. Old Welsh!_

One man from broke free from the mass and drew his last arrow, aiming it at one of his enemies. But at the last second, someone shot him instead and his arms flew out as he fell, spread-eagled onto the ground. The arrow that had been intended for one of the warrior savages flew from the bow and into the trees.

And embedded itself in the fleshy part Iona's shoulder.

Iona's eyes widened and she almost fell out of the tree, but she managed to keep her seat. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from making any noise, gasping in short, ragged breaths as she stared at her left shoulder. The offending arrow had a thick, dark shaft, fletched with stringy, tattered feathers, and was far enough into her shoulder that she couldn't see the head, but not far enough that it was protruding out her back.

Gritting her teeth in determination, she grabbed onto the shaft and tugged, trying to pull it out. The pain made black spots dance in front of her eyes, and she almost vomited, so she let go and rested her head back against the tree trunk, trying to catch her breath. _Not that way. Other way._ Iona ripped a strip of cloth from her ruined skirt, and balled it up to put in her mouth. Her breath coming in short pants, she clenched her teeth around the cloth and bent forward, the end of the arrow shaft pressing against the tree branch she was sitting on. Tears leaked from the corners of her clenched eyes, and she allowed herself one small, pain-filled whimper before using her body weight to press down on the arrow.

It was the hardest thing Iona had ever done, to not make any noise as she forced that arrow through her shoulder. She could feel her muscles and skin ripping as she pressed down, and could hear her blood roaring in her ears, over the sound of the battle still raging. She used her free hand to press her jaw closed around her makeshift gag. The muscles in her neck screamed with tension and her entire torso pounded with pain, but after what felt like a year, the head of the arrow broke through to the back of her shoulder and most of the shaft slid through easily.

All that was left was the fletched end, so Iona raised her trembling hand over her shoulder and grasped the blood-slicked arrow, trying to pull it out of her back. It came slowly, agonizingly slowly, a centimetre at a time, and she had to stop every few minutes to rest and get up her nerve again. Dimly she realized that the battle in on the plain had stopped, and the surviving blue-painted people had scattered, running back into the trees.

Vaguely, as if through a mist, Iona saw a group of men on horses galloping towards the forest, pulling up just beyond where the dead lay. Then the last bit of the arrow slid from her shoulder and she blacked out, tumbling from the tree to the ground below.


	3. Chapter 3

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Iona learns the truth

* * *

Arthur and his knights had come upon the Woad battle almost at the end of it, just in time to break it up and send the victors scurrying for cover. There wasn't much concern in helping either side, only in making sure no peasants had been involved; so they stopped to water their horses at the nearby stream before continuing on their way back to Hadrian's wall. Then a crash in the underbrush to their left caught everyone's attention. Arthur nodded at Tristan who advanced on foot with his sword drawn, while the rest of the knights waited through the silence that followed Tristan's disappearance into the trees.

There was the sound of a brief tussle, and then Tristan dragged a woman from the woods and pushed her unceremoniously into the centre of the group. She stumbled and fell, her legs collapsing beneath her, her left arm stiff and useless at her side, with a ragged and bleeding wound in her shoulder. She was small and slim, with thick black hair, olive skin, and brown eyes that were dull with pain. She was wearing clothing like nothing the knights had ever seen before – a form-fitting green skirt that was now in tattered ruins, and a blood-soaked, white shirt of some soft-looking thin material. Tristan threw a few more items on the ground beside her: a jacket of the same green as her skirt, a small red bag with a long strap, and a pair of strange, impractical-looking shoes with ridiculous tall, thin heels.

Her breathing was harsh, but she slowly rose to her knees with her head thrown back, presenting an open target for any of their blades. Arthur gazed at her for a moment before speaking.

"What is your name?" No answer except the narrowing of her eyes. He tried again.

"Do you understand me?" Her voice was cold, hollow, with a heavy accent.

"Is this heaven?" The knights around her laughed in disbelief, but quieted when Arthur looked at them. He turned back to the woman.

"No, lady. This is Britain. Did you think you were dead?" She nodded, swallowing thickly and swaying slightly on her knees. Behind her, Dagonet made to move forward, but Arthur shook his head slightly and the large man stayed where he was.

"What is your name?" The woman blinked as if she was trying to get Arthur into focus.

"My name is Iona Andromeda Demetronopolos. How can this be Britain?" Arthur frowned slightly.

"Because it always has been, Lady Iona. Where are you from? How did you come to be here?" Iona laughed at that, and her laughter almost ended in a hysterical little sob as she sat back on her heels. She watched as if from a distance as the men surrounding her moved so she could see them all. There were ten of them, including the one who had spoken to her. He was dressed in what looked like an ancient Roman commander's uniform, except it looked almost brand new. All of the men were rough looking and fierce. _Except_…except that one, at the end of the line, to his commander's right. He was tall and broad, a giant really, and fierce as well, but his scarred face was gentle and his eyes were soft as he looked at her. The commander spoke again, gently.

"Lady Iona?"

With difficulty, she pulled her gaze away from the giant and back to the leader, with a look in her eyes as if she had made up her mind about something.

"You are Roman? And Christian?" He nodded, and she took a deep breath.

"Who is Pope?" His eyebrows flickered at that, but he answered promptly.

"Hilarius has been on the papal throne for almost three years, now." Iona's jaw almost dropped, and she could feel her heart start a frightened tattoo that echoed in her ears.

"Pope…H-hilarius? He followed Leo the First?" Arthur's lips curled slightly.

"He has been the only Pope Leo, so I suppose he was the first." Her face went instantly white and she slumped to the side, supporting her weight on her good arm and muttering something in a language they didn't understand. The giant was instantly by her side, his fingers gently probing at her shoulder. Iona winced and made to pull away, but his hands were insistent. With a quick motion, he tore the sleeve from her ripped, bloodied blouse and fashioned a makeshift bandage with it. She watched him work in a daze, her mind trying to wrap around what she had just heard.

When the man was finished bandaging Iona's shoulder, he gently helped her to her feet and stood behind her, supporting her with a hand under her right elbow. She looked back up at the commander and took a deep breath.

"I do not know how it happened, sir. Or what, in fact, happened. But you say that Hilarius is the Holy Father…" she fell silent and shook her head, her eyes pleading with the men in front of her.

"Please believe I am not insane. But somehow…somehow I have travelled through time to be here."

Dead silence.

The man behind her was the first to speak, his voice a rumble in his chest that vibrated through Iona's back.

"Through time, Lady?" Iona nodded.

"If Hilarius is in his third year, that means I have travelled…fifteen centuries into the past. I live here, in Britain, in a city that is on this very spot, but there are hundreds of thousands of people in the city, and it is filled with buildings taller than the Coliseum. I thought I was dead, because the last thing I remember from my time, I was about to be run over by a huge…vehicle. I shut my eyes, and when I opened them…I was here." Another silence, broken by a large, bald man with a gruff voice.

"How'd you get hurt?" Iona inclined her head in the direction of the dead bodies lying strewn over the ground.

"The battle. A wayward arrow. They did not know I was in the trees. I forced it through my shoulder and pulled it out…then I must have fainted and fallen out of the tree I was in." A note of desperation crept into her voice, and she looked at the commander.

"Please…do you know of anyone who can…any magician…I mean… Sir, I do not belong here." The youngest of the men laughed harshly.

"Neither do we." Iona looked at him quizzically, but it was the man behind her who spoke.

"We have been pulled from our homes to be here for a purpose. Maybe you have as well." Iona tipped her head back to look up at him, her frightened heart soothed by his kind eyes. She squinted slightly.

"Who are you?" The commander stepped forward.

"My name is Arthur Castus, and these are the knights I command. Bors, Gareth, Gaheris, Ector, Tristan, Galahad, Gawain, Lancelot, and Dagonet behind you."

As he listed the names, Iona's eyes got wider and wider until her whole face seemed to disappear into them. She tried to speak, swallowed, and tried again.

"D-do you…by any chance…sit at a round table?" Arthur frowned.

"Yes, we do. How did you know?" Iona shook her head.

"Oh dear."

And then she fainted.


	4. Chapter 4

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Iona has a fireside chat with herself and makes up her mind.

* * *

It was dark when Iona woke up, and for one happy moment she thought she was in her own bed at home, and it had all been a strange, freaky, too-realistic dream. Then she realized she was outside, on the ground, by a crackling fire, with a searing pain in her shoulder, and her happy moment came crashing down around her.

"I can't seriously be in the Dark Ages with Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table!" There was a movement from across the fire, and one of the knights crouched beside her.

"Lady Iona?" Iona sighed and shook her head, pulling her mind out of English and into the Latin she never thought she'd have to use for real.

"I had hoped it was all a dream." The knight smiled slightly and helped her to sit up against a tree, handing her a water skin and solicitously rearranging the blanket around her so she stayed warm.

Iona winced as she stretched to test her muscles and gritted her teeth together.

"Are you in pain, lady?" Iona laughed, and then grimaced as she tried to lift her left arm.

"I am not accustomed to arrow wounds and falling out of trees." The knight chuckled.

"You soon get used to it in this land." Iona studied him for a moment in the firelight. He was darkly handsome, with curly black hair, strong features, and what seemed to be a permanent smirk affixed to his mouth.

"Fall out of many trees, do you?" His only response was to roll his eyes at her. She smiled.

"This is not your land?" He laughed again, harsh and bitter.

"No. The original inhabitants are the Woads – the people you saw fighting earlier. The Romans, Arthur's people, rule over it and keep the peace as best they can. We are Sarmatians, and our land is far to the east. We have been conscripted into the Roman cavalry for generations because of an ancient pact with our forefathers."

"How long must you serve?" His jaw clenched and he stared into the fire.

"Fifteen years. We have been here for almost twelve. Although I must say finding you has made it all worthwhile, lady." Iona could hear the bitterness underneath the smooth charm of his voice, and her lips quirked slightly into a smile. _He'd charm the crown right off a queen._

"You are Lancelot?" He nodded, moved closer to her, and was about to say more when there was a movement beyond the fire. The knight who had pulled Iona from the forest stalked into view on silent feet and looked at Lancelot.

"Your watch." Without another word, he wrapped his cape around his body and threw himself down by the fire. Iona quirked her eyebrow at Lancelot as he rose, and he gave her a quick smile.

"Tristan." She nodded and watched until he was on the other side of the fire, about to walk into the darkness. He turned and bowed to her.

"I look forward to seeing you in the morning, my lady. Sleep well." Iona just rolled her eyes at him, and watched as he disappeared with a laugh.

Sleep didn't come, though, as Iona sat by the fire through the wee hours of the night. Not that she expected it. She was safe, as far as she could tell, and not alone to fend for herself in a…well, not a strange land, but strange enough. She wasn't dreaming, and she wasn't dead, so somehow she really had travelled back in time more than fifteen hundred years. The logic screamed at her, and she tried to reason her way out of and around her predicament, but always she came back to the beginning.

She was in Britain, around 464 c.e, and she was with Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.

_Have to be careful, Ai. You don't know how much of the stories are true, or at what point these guys are at. You don't know if Guinevere is on the scene, or if Arthur has impregnated his sister, or if Tristan has found Isolde, or Lancelot found Elaine, or Gawain his Loathy Lady…or if any of what Malory and the other authors wrote is accurate._

She chuckled under her breath. Up until that point, she had immersed herself in the literature of the Dark Ages and medieval period like it was fiction, or based on a long forgotten or altered truth. Never in a million years did she think it was possible to see Arthur and his knights like they really were.

_Well, no, because it isn't possible. How can it be possible?_ Iona rolled her eyes at herself and huffed under her breath.

_You can chase the logic around and around, Iona. You can spend the rest of your life in disbelief. But that doesn't change the fact that you're in the past. So get over it, and move on._

The only thing she could think of, the only thing that remotely started to make sense, was that she _had_ been hit by the truck, and that she _had_ died. So this wasn't heaven, but it was a form of reincarnation.

_So to get home, I have to die here?_ The logic was flawed, but then logic wasn't really logical right now. For instance, there was no guarantee she'd end up home again. She could end up surrounded by dinosaurs, or space ships, or something else entirely. Or she could just be dead.

_So can I just get someone to kill me? Or does it have to be unexpected like the truck?_ She couldn't imagine that Arthur or any of his knights would be comfortable just hacking off her head if she asked, so she would have to die by accident.

_Or I could kill myself_. Well, she could keep that option open. Even uncertain about life like she was, she still clung to it enough to be put off by the thought of suicide.

_Besides. I've wound up smack in the middle of what I teach. I'd be an idiot to not take advantage of it._

Finally, Iona's mind was settled, or as settled as it could be. So she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and stared into the fire until she fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Iona settles in.

* * *

The next four days were a balm to Iona's soul. Four days of galloping across a Britain that was both familiar and foreign; four days of riding in front of each knight in turn; four days of getting to know the knights and their commander and developing a laughing, joking rapport; four days of forgetting the stress of her life back home and just, for once, enjoying herself. She was able to gain insights into their personalities and their way of life that endeared them to her, and her calm manner and sense of humour endeared her to them. She saw no harm in describing the technology and customs of her own time, making sure only to stay away from the legends of their own history - just in case they did ever find themselves in those situations and assumed the outcome because of what she said.

One night, gathered around a roaring fire, Arthur looked up at Iona with his calm, green eyes.

"And what of you, Iona? You've told us of your time, but nothing of yourself or your family. What about your people?" Iona smiled at him from across the blaze, and tilted her head slightly to think. She spoke slowly, thoughtfully.

"Well, I suppose that I have two people, Arthur. One is my husband's people, the people of this land. They are stodgy and solemn, very upright and proper, not given to excess emotion. They do what needs to be done, and then move on. But my family's people, my papa's people... the people of my heart... well, have you ever met a Greek?" The knights all shook their heads with the exception of Arthur, who smiled with sparkling eyes. Iona smiled back at him.

"They laugh and shout, they sing and fight, and everything they do, they do with an excess of emotion... and volume." She mimed covering her ears with a grimace, and the men laughed. She laughed as well, remembering some of her family reunions long past.

"My people believe that if something is worth doing, it is worth doing passionately. If it is worth loving, it is worth loving with your whole heart. And if it is worth fighting for, it is worth fighting to the death for." Bors belched, and scratched his belly absently.

"Our kind of people then, innit Ai?" Iona nodded, her stomach curling in pleasure at the sound of her father's nickname for her. _No one has thought to call me by a nickname in a very long time._ She was lost in thought until someone sat beside her, and she looked up to see Dagonet's strong profile staring into the flames, his soft eyes kind. A swirl of pleasure warmed her stomach and her mouth immediately went a little dry, while her heart beat a little faster. _What is this, Iona? You're acting like a girl with a crush! I haven't had butterflies in... well, ever._ Dagonet's voice was low, gentle.

"You are married... in your own time, Iona?" Iona sighed, not knowing how to explain why she and Alex divorced, or even if she wanted to.

"I was married, but no longer." Dagonet's voice dropped again.

"No longer?" She shook her head, her butterflies ramping up their exercises. He smiled.

"You have no suitors, in your time?" She shook her head again, fixing her gaze on the flames, feeling a blush work its way up her neck to her cheeks. From across the fire they heard Arthur.

"Dagonet, first watch." For a moment it looked as if Dagonet pursed his lips in exasperation, but he stood swiftly, pausing only to bend down to Iona's level, his mouth next to her ear.

"The men in your time are idiots." Then he was gone, and Iona was left with cartwheeling butterflies, and the heat of his breath on her neck.


	6. Chapter 6

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Iona's past catches up with her, as well as her present.

* * *

The fort at Hadrian's Wall was fascinating to Iona. All the records she had studied in her research were amazingly accurate, so it felt like she was exploring a town she had grown up in and then returned to after many years. Arthur became her greatest ally in this, making the fort's records and his own personal records available to her. Dagonet, also, shared and helped in her exploration when he wasn't patrolling the land around the wall or practicing with the other knights. His deep voice quietly explained the ways of the Sarmatians, the ways of the fort, and the ways of the knights, and they spent hours talking together, developing a deep friendship. Iona spent her days immersed in scrolls and records or wandering around spending time with the people, and her nights with the Sarmatians in the tavern. In this way, seven months passed quickly.

It was a zoo, that tavern. Peasants, Romans, Sarmatians…everyone came together at night to drink, carouse, womanize, and gamble. It was run by a fat pig of a man named Antonius, but everyone knew that Vanora was in charge. The fiery, redheaded mother of Bors' seven children had instantly taken the wounded Iona under her wing, providing clothes and shoes from her own wardrobe even though the slim woman practically swam in curvy Vanora's dresses. In return, Iona helped Vanora serve ale to the knights and soldiers – something she had gotten used to doing when she was waitressing her way through university.

"Iona! More ale!" Vanora's voice had a lilting laugh to it as she pulled away from something Bors was whispering in ear, and Iona grinned as she came out from behind the bar with a full pitcher.

"You cannot still be thirsty, Bors! You are not going to be able to walk straight." The big man looked at her with bleary eyes as she filled his empty mug.

"Innithat the point, then?" Iona laughed and muttered something in what the knights now recognized as English. She filled Galahad, Dagonet, and Ector's cups, and then topped off Gawain and Lancelot's, careful to keep her hands clear of where they were playing with their daggers. She quirked an eye at Tristan, who shook his head, drained the last of his ale, and strode silently out of the tavern. Lancelot smacked her on her behind as she passed, and she cuffed the side of his head in return.

"It is a wonder you have survived so many years, Lancelot, without being able to control your hands." He leered at her drunkenly.

"You would be amazed to know what I can do with my hands, Iona." She grinned and scoffed in response, shaking her head as she walked past a table of Roman soldiers. They watched her as she walked past them, and then suddenly one of them reached out and grabbed her by the arm.

Iona cried out in alarm, but her reflexes were quick. As the soldier was pulling her down onto his lap, she slammed her fist down onto the handle of one of Gawain's knives and flipped it into the air, where she caught it and pointed it at the man's throat. She landed clumsily, half in his lap and half off of it, but the knife point never wavered.

A shocked silence filled the tavern, and the knights who had half-risen to her aid stared at her in surprise. Without taking her eyes off the Roman soldier, Iona clambered to her feet, returned the knife to Gawain, gathered the pieces of the pitcher that had broken on the floor, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Noise gradually returned to the tavern, although a bit more subdued than it had been. Dagonet waited to make sure the Romans wouldn't cause any more trouble, then rose silently and followed Iona.

He found her standing with her back to the door, staring into the fire with one hand on her hip and the other holding the pieces of pitcher loosely at her side.

"Iona?" She started violently and dropped the pottery again, whirling, her hands held ready like she was expecting a fight. Dagonet quirked an eyebrow at her and frowned in concern.

"Ai? What's wrong?" She stood and stared at him for several heartbeats, her mind racing and her mouth attempting to form the words to explain. Dagonet frowned again, then gently took her by the hand and led her to sit by the fire where he crouched in front of her, holding her small hands in his big ones.

"That's not the first time you've touched a blade, is it?" She blinked owlishly at him, and then shook her head.

"I have trained to fight with swords since…well, really, since I was big enough to hold one." Dagonet nodded, and then bent his head so he could look her in the eye.

"You've dealt with men in the tavern before. What happened, Iona?" There was a long moment of silence before Iona dropped her head and took a deep breath.

"Back home…when I was married. My…husband…was unfaithful. He had several other women that I did not know about." Her grip on Dagonet's hands grew tight, but he just sat patiently, waiting and listening.

"I finally found out about the other women and confronted him about it. He did not…react well." Dagonet's brow lowered in anger, already guessing what she was going to say.

"If I have a sword in my hands, I can defend myself very well. But without a sword…Alex was much stronger than I. He broke my arm, my right arm. And dislocated the shoulder. He broke my cheekbone, my nose, and several ribs. There was plenty of bruising, and some bleeding inside, as well. I was in the hospital for several weeks." Iona met Dagonet's gaze and held it for a moment, but then had to look away because of the anger in his normally gentle eyes. For the first time, it sunk in that these men – that this man – killed people. And looking into Dagonet's eyes right then, she believed that he was capable of it.

"I-I suppose…I suppose I was just remembering what had happened. And I reacted like I could not, then. I did not know what was happening, what Alex was about to do. I had no way to defend myself, no knife lying on the table, no one around to help. Not like I did tonight."

There was silence as Iona watched Dagonet, his jaw clenching and unclenching, his eyes fierce. Acting on a whim, she cupped his rough face in her small hands, and forced him to meet her gaze.

"I know you wish he were here right now, Dagonet. I know you wish you could have been there in my defence." She leaned forward so they were almost nose-to-nose, one of her thumbs absently running over his cheekbone as her voice dropped to a whisper.

"But if that had not happened, I do not know if I would be here right now. I had been offered a job in a different city…and if we had moved, I would not have been crossing the street when I was. I would not have been hit by that truck…I would not have met…you…" Iona's voice dropped away into nothing as she sat, cradling Dagonet's face in her hands and staring into his calm, warm blue eyes, her heart racing. It was almost like a magnetic force was pulling them closer together, until it was absolutely nothing for Dagonet to capture her mouth in the softest of kisses.

"Just a minute, Bors!" Vanora's loud voice announced her presence in the kitchen, just seconds before she actually appeared. Iona and Dagonet jumped apart guiltily, the knight rising quickly to stand on the other side of the fireplace. Vanora squeaked in surprise when she saw them.

"Oh! You two are still in here? I thought you had gone!" Iona cleared her throat.

"No…Vanora…I apologize. I will come back out to help you." The other woman shook her head.

"No need, Ai. Almost everyone is gone now. It's just the knights, and I can handle them." She looked at the two of them and their uncomfortable, strained posture, and smiled.

"It's a nice night…why don't you two go for a ride? The lake would be beautiful in the moonlight." Iona shot a look at Dagonet from under her lashes, and the giant cleared his throat as well.

"The lake. That's a good idea." He helped Iona up, and then escorted her out the door with a hand at the small of her back. Vanora cast a knowing look after them.

"You two have a good time, now."

And when they had gone, she giggled.


	7. Chapter 7

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Iona finds what she was looking for.

* * *

A warm west wind was blowing as Dagonet and Iona stepped out the back door of the tavern, and it pushed them in a meandering, leisurely path around the compound; through the square, to the top of the wall, around the stables. Dagonet had hesitantly reached out and taken Iona's hand, linking their fingers together when she surrendered it willingly, which sent the butterflies in her stomach into an enthusiastic cheerleading routine. Iona was studiously looking everywhere except at Dagonet, otherwise she would have seen the goofiest grin on his face as they strolled around the fort.

The stables were dark and warm as they entered, lit only by a single lamp in the middle of the long room. Both ends of the building were open doors, and the long walls were a series of large stalls that each housed a knights' horse and all his equipment. Dagonet's warhorse, Agravain, nickered softly and stared at Iona with one dark eye as they entered the stall, and she pressed back against Dagonet instead of moving forward, not wanting to do anything to spook the big stallion. She didn't know a lot about horses, but did know that they could be dangerous – especially these horses, who routinely carried their masters into battle.

"Here. Let him smell you." Dagonet stood behind Iona and cupped her hand in his, placing it near Agravain's soft muzzle so the dark horse could breath in her scent as Dagonet spoke softly to him in Sarmatian. The horse huffed his approval and nudged Iona's arm so she would scratch his head. She obliged, smiling as the big horse groaned in contentment and rested his forehead against her shoulder. She laughed and looked up at Dagonet with shining eyes, her hand rubbing Agravain's forelock. Dagonet looked at her, with her dark hair coming loose and her brown eyes sparkling, and felt his heart expand. In one smooth motion, he bent and captured the back of her head in his big hand, pressing a kiss to her lips.

Iona gasped in surprise, but forgot everything else as she kissed Dagonet back, loving the feeling of his strong arms around her and his broad shoulders under her hands. _How are his lips so…soft?_ They broke apart for breath a few minutes later, and Dagonet pressed his forehead to Iona's, rubbing her back in relaxed circles with his calloused hands.

A sudden movement caught their attention, and they looked up to see Tristan standing outside the stall with his eyebrows raised. Iona squeaked in surprise and embarrassment, shrinking to stand behind Dagonet. The big man looked unashamedly at the scout, who just shook his head.

"About time." Then he was gone as silently as he came. Dagonet turned to see Iona standing with her hands knotted in front of her, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She looked so adorable that Dagonet grinned and reached for her, but she pursed her lips at him, started to speak, stopped, and then started again with her eyes glued to the floor.

"I do not know… Dag, I was married, but it was to someone I had known all my life. There was no courtship, no romance…it was just expected that we would be married, and so we were. He was the only one I have ever known. I do not know how to do…this…" Iona looked up hesitantly, and saw that Dagonet had somehow moved right in front of her, close enough that she had to tip her head way up to see his face. His voice was soft.

"I don't know how a man could have a woman like you and not worship her...how he could have even thought about another woman with you as his wife." Iona looked down in humiliation.

"Well…maybe I…well…" Dagonet's brow lowered, and he bent so he could look Iona in the eye, tipping her chin up so she would meet his gaze.

"Some men...like Lancelot...don't want to be faithful. Don't want just one woman. But the difference between him and your dog of a husband is that he doesn't pretend. He doesn't lead the tavern girls on. They know not to expect more from him." Iona's eyes were so sad that Dagonet cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead gently.

"You are amazing, Iona. You are intelligent, warm, caring, beautiful, and enchanting to watch. And so tempting that these last seven months have been very hard." Iona's cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and Dagonet's brow lowered again, but this time with a devilish look in his eye.

"You just need to know what it is to be appreciated by someone who cares for you." Iona noticed the change in his voice and looked up, mesmerized by the fire in his gaze.

"I-I do?" Dagonet nodded slowly, running his calloused thumb over her bottom lip with a feather-light touch.

"Your heart needs to race and your skin needs to prickle when someone touches you." Iona blinked owlishly, feeling her heart pounding in her ears and under Dagonet's gentle fingers at her throat. His hands slid down her back to her waist and back up again.

"Your throat and lips need to go dry when you're waiting for a kiss." Iona's tongue slipped out to moisten her lips, and Dagonet groaned softly.

"And then you need to feel the frustration when that kiss doesn't come." Iona sighed.

"But…but why?" Dagonet dipped his head, his voice just a rumble.

"So that when it does come, it's even sweeter." Dagonet moved the last few centimetres separating them and pressed his lips to hers; Iona melted into him, her eyes fluttering closed and her hands sliding up his strong arms to his shoulders and neck. Dagonet wrapped his arms around her and picked her up so that she was pressed against the whole solid length of him, her arms around his shoulders and one small hand at the back of his head.

Iona didn't know if the kiss lasted for seconds or hours - she only knew that she never wanted it to end. So when she felt solid ground beneath her feet again, she groaned in frustration and pressed more insistently against Dagonet. He chuckled deep in his throat and pulled back slightly, his eyes velvety in the lamplight.

"Iona?" The soberness in his voice cut through the fog in her mind and she looked up at him in surprise.

"I'm not your husband." She frowned slightly, not knowing what he was getting at.

"I know." He nodded, tracing the smooth line of her chin with his fingers.

"And I'm never going to intentionally hurt you in any way." Iona's heart flushed with warmth and the butterflies in her stomach did back flips.

"I know, Dagonet." He smiled down at her and kissed her again softly.

"Come with me?" Iona searched his gaze for a long moment, knowing what he was asking, thinking about everything she knew about Alex, and everything she knew about Dagonet. _Night and day, the two of them. Or knight and day. He is nothing like Alexander._

And then she smiled.


	8. Chapter 8

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Iona is thrust into another situation over which she has no control.

* * *

"Oh, c'mon! You have to try!"

"Watch the hands, boy."

"Nice one, Ector, you nearly had him."

"I am trying! You're just fighting dirty!"

"Gawain, you're next."

"Defend yourself, then, and I won't take off your hands."

"Not so hard, Dagonet. You nearly took off my arm last time."

"Woads don't fight fair, Gaheris."

"Give him a break, Tris. You're just toying with him and he knows it."

The shouts of the knights and the clash of their blades echoed across the compound from the practice yard, and Iona smiled as she sauntered down to where the men were, carrying two heavy baskets. Lancelot saw her coming and whistled at her, which took the other men's attention away from their sparring matches.

"Oh stop, Lancelot. You just saw that I am bringing food, and you are hungry." Lancelot's grin was wolfish.

"Hungry for you, Iona. Aren't you tired of Dagonet yet?" She gratefully surrendered one of the full baskets to him, and then kicked him in the shin when his hands were full.

"The day I tire of Dagonet and turn to you will be the day the sun rises in the north." Iona ignored Lancelot's yelping and hopping around, smiling up at Dagonet who took the other basket and kissed her.

"Do you think Vanora sent enough food?" Iona laughed.

"She always packs more when she knows she does not have to bring it down herself." They smiled at each other and climbed the fence to stand in the practice yard with the others, who were quickly ripping open the baskets and dividing up the contents. Dagonet bent slightly so he could kiss Iona's ear and speak into it softly.

"I have something for you." She raised her eyebrows, a question in her eyes. His smile was devious.

"I'll be right back." She frowned at him, but turned back to the knights as he slipped towards the stables. Bors was telling a dirty story that the other knights had obviously heard before, and Iona joined in the laughter as they teased him and stole the punch line away. A few minutes later, Dagonet's low voice called from the stable entrance.

"Iona?" The second she turned, Dagonet threw a sword end over end, with such force that the men behind her shouted in alarm and jumped to pull her out of the way. At the last possible second, Iona stepped to the side, away from their reaching hands, and snatched the sword out of the air by the handle. She stared at Dagonet with complete shock.

"Dag!" The giant shrugged and sauntered over, giving Arthur a look that Iona didn't understand. She released a breath she didn't even know she was holding.

"You get rid of all your women this way? Three months and you throw a sword at them?" Dagonet just smiled an infuriating smile.

"I knew you would catch it." Iona gave him such an icy and angry look that Gareth whistled low under his breath and all the knights looked at each other with warning expressions on their faces. Dagonet shrugged again.

"It's a gift, Iona." She put a hand on her hip.

"_Why_, Dagonet?" The men watched the conversation between the two with bated breath. Dagonet grinned.

"Because the blacksmith tells interesting stories." Understanding dawned on Iona's face, and she straightened, relaxing noticeably.

"He does, does he? What kind of stories does he tell?" The knights immediately looked to Dagonet.

"He says that almost the minute we leave on patrol, you are in his shop, practicing with a sword. And that in return, you are teaching his son how to read." Iona smiled slightly, now studying the blade in her hand as the knights behind her murmured in surprise.

"He tells true stories, then." Dagonet nodded.

"So the sword is a gift. Now you don't have to borrow one." She squinted at him.

"Now I have to repay you somehow, as well as teach Holger how to read?" Lancelot snickered suggestively.

"I'm sure he's got _something_ in mind." The other knights laughed, but Iona was watching Dagonet's face.

"You do have something in mind, Dagonet." He just smiled at her, and then at Arthur. Iona sighed.

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" He shrugged again, an action that Iona was beginning to loathe.

"That depends." She glared at him pointedly.

"On _what_, Dagonet?" He grinned at her, cheekily.

"On if you can disarm Galahad." Galahad yelped in surprise, but Iona just smiled.

"Ah."

It took a few minutes of good-natured ribbing from the knights before Galahad had his sword and was standing in the middle of the field. In the meantime, Iona gave her new sword a good once-over. It was a beautifully made bastard sword, with a long, wide, double-edged gleaming blade, a short, stocky, curling cross-guard, a grip wrapped in black leather sealed with cured pitch, and a round pommel the size of a newborn colt's hoof. It fit well in her hands, and she tested the weight of it by swinging it in circles with her right arm, her left, and then both hands together. When she felt comfortable with the feeling and weight, she turned towards Galahad with her left hand on her hip, and her right holding the sword relaxed, the tip almost touching the ground.

"Well, Galahad?" The young knight looked apprehensive.

"I don't want to hurt you, Iona." She smiled and chuckled low in her throat.

"So considerate." And with that, she attacked.

It was over almost as soon as it had begun. Two quick lunges towards the boy, three wide, swinging arcs with the sword, and Galahad was flat on his back with his spatha scuttling across the ground. The knights were silent for a full five seconds before erupting into cheers and catcalls. Iona ignored them, however, retrieved Galahad's sword for him, and pulled him to his feet. Her voice was brusque.

"Again. This time, be ready for me."

This time the fight lasted for almost fifteen seconds before ending in the same way as the first. Galahad got the distinct impression that he was being played with, so when he ended up on his back in the dirt, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was Dagonet who offered him a hand up, and the big knight pounded on his back, removing most of the dust and causing Galahad to gasp for air.

"Ready for another go round, lad?" Galahad started to sputter, but Iona's voice cut across his refusal.

"You want to see what I can do, do you not, Dagonet?" Her lover nodded, squinting at her.

"Then let me fight someone else. Not the pup." Dagonet chuckled low in his throat.

"Who would you fight, lady?" Iona's voice was calm, matter-of-fact, and nonchalant.

"Tristan." There was silence for a moment before the men started hooting. Iona ignored them, however, and just looked at the scout. He shrugged.

"You'll need armour." She mimicked his shrug.

"Take yours off." The ghost of a smile crossed Tristan's face as he reached for the buckles of his armour. Dagonet grabbed Iona's hand.

"Are you certain, Iona? You've seen Tristan fight." She looked up at him with one eyebrow raised.

"What else did the blacksmith say?" Dagonet pursed his lips at her without replying, remembering how the normally brusque man waxed eloquent over 'that foreign one' as he called her.

Iona patted Dagonet's arm absently, and stepped away, knowing what the man would have said. Her whole being was instantly focused on Tristan, who walked into the middle of the practice ring with a drawn sword and a bare chest.

They stood and studied each other for a long moment, both with relaxed posture and their swords held loosely at their sides. Then a small smile flickered across Tristan's face as he looked at her from under his shaggy hair.

"Lady." Iona smiled slightly as well.

"Knight."

Their swords met in the air, softly, almost like a kiss, the blades singing as they rubbed together, as Tristan and Iona walked in a slow circle around each other. Then, out of nowhere, they began; later none of the knights were able to say who started it, only that it started.

They lunged and retreated, their swords flashing in the sunlight as they tested each other. First Iona danced forward several steps, beating Tristan back, then Tristan advanced a little faster, a little farther. Their feet moved lightly, softly, across the dusty ground, almost like they weren't touching it at all. The only sound was the crash of the blades together. The men watched silently. Tristan was definitely stronger than Iona, but what she lacked in strength, she more than matched him in speed and agility. She also had a knack for forcing him into situations where he couldn't use brute force and had to respond with dexterity – something that she could counteract easier. After several minutes, they spun away from each other and continued in their slow circle, sword tips flicking towards each other.

Joined again, this time faster, more fierce. Their actions were bigger, their strokes broader and wider. Now Tristan had the advantage, now Iona. Their fight became more of a dance, their feet skipping over the ground as they twirled and separated, their arms moving in graceful arcs.

They broke apart again, circling each other with an almost feral grace, their faces intent on each other, their posture bent and loose and ready. They lunged for each other savagely, Iona running a few steps and launching herself at Tristan, who met her sword in the air with a stroke so heavy it spun her away. The fight was vicious now, vicious and deadly, and they kept their movements controlled, tight, within a small range of motion so they could move faster. Both Tristan and Iona were breathing heavily, their hands starting to slip on their sword grips. Finally Tristan's sword flicked out and a line of red appeared on Iona's arm, and Iona reached just far enough past Tristan's defences to scratch a thin mark into his ribs. They whirled on each other, their swords crashing in the air above their heads and flying apart to land in the dirt on opposite sides of the practice field. Nothing was left except the two warriors gasping for breath and staring at each other.

Arthur was the first to move, his face thoughtful, as he strode across the field to retrieve Tristan's sword. By the time he returned, the other knights were chattering excitedly. Arthur's calm voice cut across the babble, his grey eyes intent on Dagonet.

"She'll need to ride." Dagonet nodded and Arthur pursed his lips.

"She'll need to shoot a bow."

"I'll teach her." Tristan voice came from where he was re-buckling his armour. Dagonet smiled slightly at the scout, and then turned his attention to Arthur.

"She'll need to be supplied." Arthur nodded as well, his eyes calculating.

"I can take care of that." Iona looked between Arthur and Dagonet, her eyes narrowing.

"Why do I get the feeling my future is being decided for me?" Bors grinned at her and pushed her good-naturedly, so hard she almost fell down.

"Because it is, girlie." She punched him in the arm and he grinned even wider.

Arthur smiled.

"Iona Andromeda Demetronopolos, I am conscripting you into the Roman cavalry. You will fight with my knights." Iona's eyebrows shot almost into her hairline and her jaw dropped.

"I will do what?" Arthur smiled.

"You have read absolutely every piece of paper this fort holds, Iona. There is nothing more you can learn here. You need something else to do, other than working in the tavern. Dagonet suggested we see if the blacksmith was telling the truth. You fight as well as my knights, and we can use your sword." Iona sputtered.

"But your knights do not want to fight with a woman!" Gawain shrugged.

"Sarmatian women fight. Our mothers all did. We have no problem." The other knights nodded, grinning at her. Lancelot smiled silkily.

"Besides. It'll be nice to have someone as beautiful as you to look when we are out patrolling." Iona just rolled her eyes, feeling helpless.

"I have no choice?" Dagonet grinned, sweeping her up to his side and planting a kiss on her cheek.

"No choice at all, Iona."


	9. Chapter 9

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Iona begins her training, and finds her thoughts on her situation have changed.

* * *

Tristan, Iona found, was a patient and thorough and completely aggravating teacher.

It seemed to take forever for her to master shooting an arrow vaguely in the right direction, and Tristan wouldn't let her stop until she shot one into the exact centre of the target he had set up. Then she had to work until she could shoot a dozen arrows into the same spot without missing once, even with the other knights popping up in unexpected places to distract her.

Then she had to follow Tristan's voice, shooting at different targets as he called them, to simulate the instant and random threats on a battlefield.

And once she could do all that, she had to do it running.

And once she could do that, she had to do it on a galloping horse.

Tristan soon learned to ignore her when she started muttering in English – the one time he had asked her what she was saying, Iona burst into such a tirade in both English and Latin that the normally deadpan scout's eyebrows shot into his hairline.

Dagonet, meanwhile, was a patient and thorough and completely distracting teacher. How she ever learned to ride, Iona didn't know – it seemed like most of her riding lessons were spent wrapped up in Dagonet's arms, which Iona didn't mind in the least. Dagonet's eyes had been wicked when he grabbed her by the hips to show her how to move in the saddle, which had led to…well, nothing to do with a horse. And yet, by the fourth day, she was able to drop the reins at a full gallop and guide the horse with her legs so she could shoot her bow or wield her sword.

Iona's new horse was a beautiful, spirited bay mare named Ardin, which, Arthur said, meant 'fiery'. She certainly was a fiery little thing, with enough spunk to sink a ship. Dagonet had momentarily re-thought Arthur's choice when Ardin reared and struck at him with her front hooves, but Iona had danced under his protective arm and was soon running her hands over Ardin's soft coat. They bonded the Sarmatian way – sleeping in the same stall for a week of nights – and on the eighth morning Dagonet looked at the pair of them and knew they would fight to the death for each other.

The only thing Iona lacked was armour, so she had to watch bitterly as the knights mounted up for one last patrol without her. Dagonet chuckled at her glum face and kissed the corner of her down-turned mouth before swinging onto Agravain's tall back.

"This future that has been decided for you…you're certainly eager for it, Iona." She smiled wryly, petting Agravain's soft nose.

"I am just worried for you. I do not know how you all survived this long without me to protect you." Dagonet chuckled, grabbing her hand and pulling her up to the saddle in front of him. He kissed her long and insistently, his hands tangling in her black hair. When he pulled back, his voice was husky.

"Move your things into my room while I'm gone?" Iona's answer was another kiss, warm and promising, until Arthur gave the call to ride and she was forced to jump to the ground.

She and Vanora ran to the top of the wall to watch as their men thundered down the road away from the wall. And despite the knowledge that the knights were more than capable, Iona couldn't dispel the knot of worry in her stomach.


	10. Chapter 10

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Iona and Dagonet deal with the aftermath, and Iona makes a final decision.

* * *

The sentinels saw them coming from a mile away, and shouted to the guards at the gate. Iona stuck her head into the tavern and called for Vanora as she ran towards the wall. Three weeks the knights had been gone, and Iona had been pacing the parapets for almost that entire time, her stomach done up in knots with a worry she couldn't rationalize away. Now, as she shaded her eyes from the sun and looked towards the fast-approaching knights, her heart dropped to her feet. _Two empty horses. One lying across his horse instead of sitting. One horse with two riders. Too far away, can't see who's wounded._

The cry of alarm spread down from the wall and across the fort, and a crowd of people gathered instantly to watch the knights thunder through the gates, the fallen warrior surrounded by others with supporting hands to keep him on his horse. They were a flurry of movement when they stopped at the stables, and Iona stayed only long enough to catch a glimpse of Dagonet's grim face as he slid off Agravain's back with Gaheris in his arms before she ran to the infirmary.

_He's alright…he's alright…._ Her heart pounded her relief against her ribs as she raced up the stairs and down the hall, skidding into the infirmary off-balance. She flew around the room, opening cupboards and pulling supplies out arbitrarily, not knowing what wounds there were and how they would need to be treated. She felt woefully unprepared, cursing herself that she had not gone into medicine. The fort's healer was a drunk, and probably passed out somewhere behind a building, but as long as Dagonet was well, he would be able to heal his brothers. Iona knew, though, that time was of the essence – and the less rummaging Dagonet would have to do, the better.

Iona was hastily stoking the fire when she heard them coming, shouts and rushing feet and someone crying out in pain. Then they were in the room, and everything was total chaos. It seemed like everyone in the fort was now in the infirmary, shouting and tramping around. Small Iona was at a disadvantage, pressed up against the wall and unable to see over the heads of the people, but she took a deep breath and pressed her way towards the middle of the room. As she went, she assessed the people she was passing. If they were not a knight, she ordered them out the door and glared at them until they complied. The number of people in the room dropped by half almost immediately, and Iona was able to see what was happening.

Tristan and Bors were sitting on a cot on one side of the room while Arthur paced in front of them. They were all bleeding from some gash or arrow wound. Gawain was lying, death-like, on a bed on the other wall, but he was still breathing and his pulse was strong. Next to him was Ector, grimacing in pain from a deep cut to his leg, but he assured Iona he could wait for Dagonet for a while longer. It was Gaheris who needed the most attention.

He was thrashing around on a fourth cot, and it was taking the strength of Galahad and Lancelot to hold him down while Dagonet worked. Iona didn't take a close look, but she saw a huge gash across his stomach, a dark wound at the side of his head, and at least three arrows broken off and jutting out from him in various places, as well as countless other cuts and bruises. He was screaming for his brother, Gareth.

Iona swallowed, then gathered some cloths and went to Arthur. He had a slash across his face that just needed cleaning, and another on his arm. Iona's voice was low as she worked.

"The horse belongs to Gareth?" The Roman commander's eyes were dark with regret and pain as he nodded.

"He fell into the river and was washed away." There was a sudden silence from the other side of the room and they looked in alarm, but saw that Dagonet had just given Gaheris a potion to put him to sleep. Lancelot and Galahad slumped to the floor in relief, and Iona turned back to Arthur. She finished bandaging his arm, then moved on to Tristan to clean the arrow wound in his shoulder. Her voice was still quiet.

"What happened?" Arthur's jaw clenched and unclenched, but no sound came for a moment as he thought back to the battle. It was Tristan who spoke, his voice flat.

"Two ambushes. One after another." Bors' voice was a growl from next to Tristan

"The first we saw comin'. The second we didn't." Iona felt the other two knights come up behind her as she moved on to the gash in Bors' forearm. It needed stitches, so she cleaned it and wrapped it to wait for Dagonet. She stepped back to where she could see all the knights who were surrounding her. Her voice was soft, compassionate, knowing that they were so wrapped up in the emotion of everything that they needed something concrete, someone to tell them what to do.

"Go to your horses. Get cleaned up. Get something to eat. I will find you if you are needed." They nodded silently and filed out of the room. Only Bors remained, and he settled back on the cot to wait, nodding to Iona. She patted his shoulder and crossed the room to Ector.

For a few minutes, there was silence as she cleaned Ector's leg. It needed stitches as well, so she wrapped it to stop the bleeding and got him some water when he asked. Gawain was still unconscious from the blow to his head, but it needed nothing more than cleaning.

"Iona." Dagonet's voice was soft, but she was immediately by his side.

"I need you to hold it closed." She nodded, placing her hands on either side of the fearsome wound in Gaheris' stomach and pressing them together so Dagonet could stitch. Even as inexperienced as she was, Iona could see that he was a lost cause – but they closed it and wrapped it anyways. Her heart clenched as she looked at Dagonet's face and the sorrow there, but she said nothing, only held his gaze for a moment when he looked at her. He nodded, his lips trembling for a brief second before he clenched his jaw and straightened. She followed him to Ector, where they went through the same process for his leg, then to Bors, where they stitched his forearm together again.

By this time, Gaheris was breathing heavily and with difficulty, his mouth a red slash in his death-white face. Iona stood by his bed with Dagonet and Bors, watching him fight to live, and felt tears sting her eyes. Her hand found Dagonet's and she met his gaze for a moment. A thought jumped between them and he nodded, bending to press a kiss to her mouth before she slipped silently out of the room.

The rest of the men were in the stables, not having gotten far after Iona sent them from the infirmary. They turned to look at her as she entered, all expression dropping from their faces as she took a breath, her voice low and husky.

"It will not be long." One by one they filed past her, first Arthur and Lancelot, then Tristan and Galahad. Finally it was just Iona and Jols, the knight's squire. They didn't speak, only nodded to each other in passing as they worked to settle the knight's horses and unpack their bags. Jols slipped away when they got word the funeral was happening immediately, but Iona stayed behind to finish.

She found comfort in the repetition of brushing the horses until their coats were soft and glossy, knowing that it was relaxing for the horses as well, and a deserving reward for what they had just been through. She let her mind wander as she worked, and was only half surprised when she realized she was crying.

_What kind of a life is this? How can I expect to survive here when the most talented fighting men know that death could be coming for them any day? How do they manage to live, when they can lose their brothers at the blink of an eye?_

Iona paused for a moment in her brushing, and the horse she was working on nickered at her. She looked up to see that she had been grooming Natali, Gaheris' horse, and a fresh wave of tears broke over her.

_He was so young! They both were…barely older than my first year students, and now their lives are over. What kind of an empire sends children to defend its outer limits? Does Rome even know what kind of a sacrifice these men are making out here? It's not their empire, and yet they die! _She stifled an angry yell and stomped out of Natali's stall, walking down the row to slip in beside Ardin. Her beautiful horse whickered at her and Iona pressed her forehead to Ardin's, sighing as she did so, ignoring the equipment displayed in the corner, now, three weeks too late.

"I won't fight for Rome, Ardin. I can't. I can't fight for something I don't agree with." Ardin looked at her with soft brown eyes and whinnied, as if answering her. Iona laughed bitterly under her breath.

"Yeah, yeah. But I can't not fight. Not now that I know the knights, know who they are and know their commander. Not now that I can." She absently patted Ardin's nose and wandered out of the stall, across the square, and up to the barracks. She made her way to the room she now shared with Dagonet and sat in the chair by the window. To wait.

She sat and waited, so that when her lover came into the room, she was there for him; there to unbuckle his armour and pull it from his tired body; there to wash the blood and dirt and gore from him; there to lead him to their bed and pull back the covers; there to take him in her arms and hold him while he cried silent, private tears for the brothers he had lost in a war not of his making.


	11. Chapter 11

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Iona takes stock, and she and Dagonet receive orders.

* * *

Iona never grew tired of sitting at the round table, and in the hum and conversation that preceded a meeting of Arthur and his knights, it was easy to let her mind wander, her eyes following one of the patterns intricately carved into the wood. It was two years now, since she was conscripted to ride with Arthur's knights, almost three years since she first appeared in their time, and she still felt her heart start to race when she saw the mammoth table. To actually sit at it, in her own chair beside Dagonet, was a sort of other worldly experience that she didn't think she would ever tire of. This was the life she felt she was meant for, to live simply and to eat, sleep, and fight with those she loved.

Especially the one she loved.

_Dagonet…_the giant, her giant, was a man who fulfilled all her hopes and silent wishes. Rough around the edges, surely, and oftentimes silent to the point of being sullen, he nevertheless was unashamed to show her that he loved and cherished her. He was there for her first battle, the first time she killed a man. Frozen in place, after the action was over, he was there to rub life back into her shocked limbs and show her how to move on. He was there when nagging nightmares of Alexander woke her in a cold sweat, and he was there when she missed her home and her family – though it was happening less and less. A fearsome battle wound, from which she would bear a scar until she died, was enough of a scare that it prompted a declaration of love – a declaration that gave her enough strength to fight through the following weeks so she could eventually answer him in kind.

And they had never looked back.

Battles had been fought, and won, and lost. Iona's life had been saved several times, and she had saved a few lives of her own. She had attended Ector's funeral as one of the knight's brothers. She loved these warriors even more than she had before; loved their roughness, their crude banter, loved that they chose to be loyal to Arthur even though they had no other choice. She loved this crazy family she was a part of, through some unbelievable cosmic accident that was drifting further and further into her past, along with her home and her life that she had once carved out so carefully for herself. This life, Iona was carving out with sword and dagger and blood and sweat and tears; and it was carving her, as well, little by little. She was rougher now, without her carefully manicured hands and designer wardrobe, with quicker reflexes and a slower tongue. Her body was as hard as steel, sharpened into a deadly weapon through necessity and use. Her eyes were piercing and calculating, her skin was darker from exposure to the sun and the elements, and her hair was shorter and uneven from weapons cutting it in battle. She had taken to braiding it like Tristan, and although it didn't make her look as feral as it made him, it still gave her an air of wildness that would put her immediately out of place back in her own time.

It was to the point where Iona couldn't remember the sound of traffic or picture the route she normally took from her home to her office in the university – but it bothered her less and less. Sometimes she would force some mental exercise involving what she used to teach, but it was mostly to wave off the nagging voice in her mind that warned against being torn from this new life back into the old one. But the less she thought about that, the happier she was. She didn't cling to her memories of home with desperation like the men did, but her languages, however, were as strong as ever. Even two years not using them in the classroom wasn't enough to pull the love of them out of her – and Dagonet had learned enough that they could talk to each other in English….which was especially convenient when they didn't want anyone else knowing what they were saying. _Although we do it so often that _someone_ must have picked up on it by now – what with the way we speak English for a little while, then suddenly disappear and come back looking mighty pleased with ourselves. _She gave Dagonet a slow smile with a hooded gaze and watched his eyes darken with desire as he guessed where her thoughts were…but then, at the sound of her name, Iona pulled her eyes away from Dagonet's magnetic stare and glanced up to see Arthur looking at them with an amused expression on his face.

"Now that we are all paying attention, let's discuss tomorrow's patrol." Iona and Dagonet both cleared their throats and shifted in their seats slightly, shooting each other one last heated glance. They then looked pointedly at Arthur, who referred to a piece of paper on the table in front of him before continuing.

"Just a routine patrol of the villages, two or three days at the most. Bors, Lancelot and Gawain, north of the wall. Just the villages. Go no further than you have to." He made eye contact with each of the men for confirmation, and then looked back down at his list.

"Dagonet and Iona, south and west. Galahad and myself, south and east. Tristan is not yet well enough to ride, so he will be staying here." The mood around the table instantly grew sombre at the mention of Tristan, who had been out scouting two weeks before when he was sandwiched between two Woad hunting parties. His empty horse returning to the fort had been a sign to the rest that something was amiss, but by the time they got to their fellow knight, Tristan was close to death despite having slaughtered all his attackers. He was almost back to normal now, but careful Arthur didn't want him to go out again too soon and risk infection or another attack that would cost him his life.

With nothing more to say, Arthur dismissed them from the meeting and they wandered from the room into the hall. The majority of the knights headed straight for the tavern for one last night of drinking before heading out, but as soon as they were alone, Iona found herself pressed with her back against the wall by Dagonet, his hands at her waist and his mouth covering hers. She smiled against his lips and wound her arms around his shoulders, tugging at his bottom lip with her teeth and then moving to kiss his neck. A low groan rumbled in Dagonet's chest and then she was being lifted, her legs wrapping around his waist as he negotiated hallways more from memory than sight, finally arriving at their room and slamming the door behind them.

Iona could never figure out how Dagonet got rid of her clothing so quickly – or his own, for that matter – for it seemed like just seconds before she was lying on top of the furs on their bed with Dagonet's solid weight pressing down on her, his mouth and hands moving over her and making her gasp and purr with delight. Their bodies moved together perfectly, knowing exactly what pleased the other and loving every cry that flew through the heated air. Moving in perfect unison, they swallowed their names torn from each other's lips in a long, passionate kiss, and then slipped into a light sleep, still intertwined – forgetting duty, forgetting patrol, forgetting everything except each other.


	12. Chapter 12

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Dagonet takes stock, and has a suggestion.

* * *

Dagonet was the first to wake in the failing evening light, coming back into consciousness with the awareness that there was another body pressed up against him. His arms tightened automatically and he looked down to see Iona snuggled up to his chest and her legs snaked around his, with a slight pout on her lips and the barest frown creasing her forehead. He smiled down at her and smoothed out the lines with his thumb, smiling again when she murmured his name and buried her face in his neck, throwing an arm across his chest and holding him with a strength that belied her small size.

Dagonet could feel his heart almost beat out of his chest with love, and he tangled his hand in her wild hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Never in a thousand years did he think that he would find someone so much a part of him, in this land that he was forced to. Never in a thousand years did he think, on that day almost three years ago, that he would look into a pair of pain-filled brown eyes and see his entire future.

_Because I did. And I think I loved her even then._ Loved her gritty determination and her stoicism, even when she had been torn centuries away from her own home and then shot with an arrow minutes after arriving. Loved her acceptance of the situation and of himself and his fellow knights. Loved her humour, her intelligence, her thirst for knowledge. Loved the hesitance in her gaze when she looked at him, the hesitance that turned to trust and then to love. Loved the way she accepted him for who he was and didn't try to change him, or try to force him like some of the tavern wenches who were only out for protection and Roman pay.

He loved the way she moved, both on the battlefield and off it. She had such grace and strength when she fought, and they worked so well together that they could anticipate each other's moves and fill the gaps for each other. He loved the way she would analyze a situation with her calculating gaze, and then do what needed to be done, no matter what that was. He loved how she wasn't squeamish like so many other women, how she stood by him when he was needed as a healer – really, how she wasn't like most women around the fort at all. She was thoughtful, calculating, sensible and strong, while also being compassionate and loving. He loved the way her lithe body felt next to his, how she was muscles and curves, iron and silk, all at the same time. Most of all, he loved how she could just simply _be_ with him, how they could enjoy silence together, how words weren't needed, how she didn't force him to talk, how a simple look could speak volumes with them.

Dagonet felt Iona's breathing change and knew she had woken up, so he pressed another kiss to her head and slowly rubbed gentle circles into the smooth skin of her back, skimming occasionally over the puckered scar that started behind her left hip and curved all the way around to her ribs on the right side of her torso. His voice was a rumble in his chest.

"I've been thinking." Iona didn't reply, but he knew she was listening.

"We're going to Anneli's village on this patrol." Iona nodded, smiling slightly as she thought of her village friend. Dagonet cleared his throat.

"I was thinking…" Iona sensed his hesitance and looked up, a slight frown to her gaze. Dagonet swallowed convulsively, nervously, and Iona shifted so she was leaning on one elbow with her head propped up in her hand, her other hand free to idly rub Dagonet's chest.

"What, Dag?" Her lover took a deep breath, searching for something in her eyes and obviously finding it.

"Anneli's uncle performs the hand-fastings for their village, doesn't he?" Iona's affirmation died on her lips as she realized what he was really asking her.

"Hand…fasting?" Dagonet nodded, reaching to grasp the hand that had stilled on his chest, reaching with the other to gently cup her face, his heart beating wildly and his words coming slowly.

"I don't have anything to offer you, Iona, except uncertainty. Even now, when we only have weeks until we receive our discharge papers, all I have is uncertainty. But I can promise that I will love and care for you for the rest of my life. I want you to be my wife, Iona Andromeda Demetronopolos. I want to marry you when we reach Anneli's village."

Dagonet's gaze was steady as he looked at her patiently, giving her time to process what he had just said. He could feel the pulse in her wrist fluttering wildly under his fingers and watched the emotions race through her wide brown eyes. When he saw the slightest hint of fear, he wasn't surprised.

"I'm not Alexander, Iona." His voice seemed to snap her out of the reverie she was in, and she focused on him.

"I'm not him. I'm not lying to you. I'm not going to turn into something else once we're married. I'm going to love and treat you the same then as I do now." Iona's lips trembled slightly and Dagonet clenched his jaw at the faceless man he would dearly love to destroy.

"Do you love me, Iona?" She nodded, small and scared.

"Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me?" She nodded again, slowly gaining confidence from his soft voice.

"Do you trust me?" A stronger nod, this time without hesitation.

"You trust me on the battlefield, Iona. You trust me with your life. You know you can do the same off the battlefield." Iona nodded again, confident now. Dagonet saw the change and smiled at her, finally getting one in return.

"Iona, will you be hand-fasted to me? Will you be my wife?"

Finally, Iona's answer was a strong, pure, promising kiss.


	13. Chapter 13

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Dagonet and Iona take the next step.

* * *

They had told only Arthur they were taking a few extra days on patrol, and their commander smiled and gave them his permission and congratulations, promising to tell the other men when they returned so they wouldn't wonder at the pair's absence.

Anneli had been ecstatic when they reached her village, instantly mobilizing her entire family to throw them an impromptu wedding party and squirreling Iona away while her brothers steered Dagonet in the opposite direction for a celebratory drink. When Dagonet finally saw Iona walking towards him as he stood beside Anneli's uncle Cohen, she took his breath away.

She had traded her breeches and armour for bare feet and a simple blue dress, and Anneli's daughters had woven daisies into her black hair. But it was her eyes that captured him, her eyes that were full of simple trust and pure love. Dagonet felt his throat grow tight as she took her place beside him, and could only grasp her hand when words failed him like they so often did. Iona understood, however, and softly smiled at him, squeezing his large hand with her smaller one.

It was a short ceremony, with no undue fuss or bother. Cohen spoke of commitment and love, spoke of the earth they came from and which would bear witness to their lives together from that moment on. When the time was right, he handed Dagonet the smaller of the two rings the knight had passed to him earlier; the rings Dagonet had spent hours in consultation with the blacksmith about, watching him mould and twist the metal into an intricate, unending pattern. Dagonet saw Iona's eyes widen in surprise and he smiled at her, grasping her right hand and slowly pushing the ring onto her index finger. It was a perfect fit.

"Iona, the only thing we possess in this life together is the strength of our right arms, our sword arms. I pledge mine to you, from this day on, and I take you as my wife, to stand by you and protect you from all that come before us. This ring is a sign of my protection, faithfulness, and love." Tears were running down Iona's face, and she laughed helplessly as Dagonet gently brushed them away. She nodded once, decisively, accepted the larger ring from Cohen, and slid it onto Dagonet's right index finger.

"Dagonet, I came here confused and bereft, and you cared for me from that very second. I take you as my husband, and I promise no less than what you have given and promised me: a willing comfort and helpmate from now until our lives are spent. This ring is a sign of my devotion, support, and love."

Cohen beamed at them and grasped their clasped hands in his, winding a soft leather cord around them.

"Now your lives are bound together as your hands are. Dagonet and Iona, you are husband and wife."

A great shout went up from the people surrounding them, and then Anneli was in front of them, tying another ribbon around their hands and throwing her arms around the both of them. One by one the other villagers followed, each tying a ribbon around their hands and congratulating them, then running to set up tables for the feast or to find instruments to play a cheerful wedding dance. Dagonet and Iona joined in the dance with a joyful laugh, their clasped hands weighed down by the mass of ribbons joining them. Dagonet looked at his bride as the sunlight failed and the bonfires were lit, looked as the daisy crown in her hair threatened to slip over one ear, saw her eyes sparkling with love, saw her face lifted to his with a thrilling laugh. With one quick movement he pushed the ribbons off their wrists and clasped Iona in his arms, kissing her with such passion that it made her knees weak and made the villagers hoot their approval.

It was the happiest night of their lives.


	14. Chapter 14

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Dag and Iona make a discovery, and Iona makes a decision that could change things forever.

* * *

"Do we have to go back?"

Dagonet chuckled low in his chest at Iona's petulant expression, and smoothed her wet hair out of her eyes. They were facing each other, Iona in Dagonet's lap with her legs around his waist, in a calm pool made by an inlet of rocks in a small stream, during a long summer's twilight. They had wandered the southern part of the island for the past three days, only stopping in villages to complete their duty to Arthur, but mostly staying to the open fields and wooded areas where there were no people, paying attention only to each other.

"Well, if we don't, Arthur will send someone after us. And they might find us at a…bad time." Dagonet grinned wolfishly and bent his head to nibble at Iona's collarbone, causing her to tip her head back with a sigh and slide one hand to the back of his head.

"That would be…ummm…right. Bad." Dagonet chuckled again, lifting Iona slightly with his hands at her shoulder blades to allow him more access to her body, knowing exactly what to do to pull moans and gasps from her. He lowered her slowly, tortuously, kissing his way up her torso to swallow a gasp from her lips and answer it with a groan of his own as they fit perfectly together, pausing absolutely still for one long moment, their foreheads pressed together and breathing in each other's breath. Iona's voice was a sigh.

"Dag…" Her husband responded by wrapping her tightly in his arms and rocking back and forth with the tiniest movements, just enough to make Iona's breath catch in her throat. Losing themselves in the rhythm, they gradually picked up the pace until the water around them was slapping against the rocks and Iona was crying out with every motion, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She threw her head back with a ragged shriek, her hands clutching convulsively at Dagonet's shoulders; moments later he shouted wordlessly, his face pressed into the hollow of her exposed throat.

For a long moment all they could hear was the blood pounding in their ears and their own harsh breathing, but eventually the sound of the water and the birds around them returned. Dagonet kissed his wife lazily, still trying to catch his breath.

"See? If someone had found us in the middle of that, it wouldn't have been nearly as good." Iona laughed and kissed him again, then stood on shaky legs and slowly made her way to their discarded clothes. Dagonet watched her go with a smirk on his face, then stretched in the cool water and stood, sauntering past her and slapping her backside as he passed. They dressed in comfortable silence, saddled Agravain and Ardin, and then swung onto their horses' backs to ride slowly through the woods in the direction of the fort.

They rode for perhaps an hour before noticing the silence that was falling around them. Iona shot Dagonet a look and he nodded, swinging down off Agravain and crouching beside Iona as they crawled silently towards the edge of the woods. They peeked over the lip of the small hill at the end of the forest, peering down into the valley to see what had startled the birds.

There was a camp. A ragged, dirty, haphazard one of maybe three dozen tents and as many fires, set up in the middle of the valley with no regard to any natural protection the land might offer. It was swarming with filthy, stocky men, most of them with long blonde hair and beards. Iona drew a quick breath.

"Saxons." Dagonet nodded, and they slid quietly away from the top of the hill to take shelter further into the woods.

"About a hundred of them." Iona nodded, her gaze calculating as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Too many for just the two of us. We need Arthur and the rest." Dagonet nodded and took a deep breath, his mind racing.

"We need to know what they're doing here." An idea dawned in Iona's eyes and she nodded slowly, her mind racing as well. Dagonet watched her face and waited until she finally spoke, staring absently at his belt.

"One of us needs to go down there, pretending to be a spy for them. The other can go back to the fort and get the others." Dagonet frowned at her, already guessing which one of them she meant.

"No." Iona pursed her lips at him.

"Dag, you just said that we need to know why they're here! And if we just blaze through and destroy the threat, we'll never find out." He shook his head at her again, but she reached up and grasped the back of his neck in her strong hand, pulling him down closer to her.

"Dagonet, I know their language. I can pretend that I was sent here several years ago to spy out the land on orders from their king. They won't do anything to me because they'll think their king will punish them if I don't give him the information." Dagonet clenched his jaw.

"Iona, that's suicide. I won't let you." Iona raised a haughty eyebrow, ice in her voice.

"It is not your decision, Dagonet. And it is not suicide. It would be suicide if we went without any sort of plan and got ourselves killed. This way, I'm just making it easier for you to come through with a blazing rescue." She grinned rakishly at him and then softened, smoothing the frown lines out of his forehead.

"Nothing is going to happen to me, Dagonet. We're less than a day's ride away from the fort, so you'll be back by tomorrow night, with the rest of the men ready for some Saxon blood. And I will be sitting, waiting, probably bored out of my mind and ready for some decent company." Dagonet could feel any control he had over the situation slipping away from him.

"What if we both went back to the fort?" Iona shook her head immediately.

"They could break camp and move on, and we would waste time trying to find them, as well as lose time to find out what they're up to." Dagonet huffed at her.

"What if they break camp when you're with them?" She grinned again.

"Then I'll just run away."

_What if you can't?_ It was on the tip of Dagonet's tongue to ask, but he closed his mouth again.

"Wife, you'll be the death of me." Iona smiled at him, a rosy glow warming her heart at the protectiveness and love she saw in his gaze. She pulled him down to her level and pressed her forehead to his.

"You need to promise me something, Dagonet. For both our sakes." Dagonet's heart dropped into his stomach with trepidation, and Iona met his gaze solidly, without a trace of fear.

"No matter how they receive me in the camp, you need to ride for the fort. You can't come after me when it's just the two of us. There are too many of them, and we would both be killed. You need to go for the others, no matter what." Dagonet could feel a lump forming in his throat at the thought of what could happen to her while he was gone, and he wrapped his arms around her as if holding on for dear life, kissing her desperately.

"I can't lose you, Ai." She shook her head confidently, holding his beloved face in her hands.

"You won't. You'll see. You'll get here with the others, and I'll be waiting for you. I trust you, Dag. You'll make a daring rescue and sweep me off back to the fort where we can spend a few days locked in our room." She wiggled her eyebrows at him and Dagonet laughed despite himself, closing his eyes and concentrating on the feel of her in his arms.

"I love you, Iona." She smiled and kissed him softly, her lips just a whisper on his.

"I love you too, Dagonet." With a huge effort he pulled away from her, swinging onto Agravain's back and taking Ardin's reins in his hand. He looked down at his wife, memorizing her face and the way she smiled up at him, feeling as though his heart was still down there with her. He stooped down and kissed her one last time; hungrily, desperately, as if he were a man forty days in a desert. Then he straightened and nudged Agravain forward a few paces, towards the fort, looking back at Iona.

"For the record, this is a very bad idea." She simply laughed and disappeared over the top of the hill, striding down into the valley with confident steps. Dagonet didn't stay to watch, but started to ride immediately. He heard her voice calling out in a guttural language, heard a response from some of the men.

And when he heard a struggle, he spurred the horses to run faster than they ever had before.


	15. Chapter 15

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Dagonet reaches the Wall.

* * *

Arthur and the rest of the knights were training in the practice yard early the next morning when they heard a commotion at the gate; people shouting and horses whinnying. Seconds later they heard Dagonet swearing in Sarmatian at the top of his lungs as he ran through the stable towards the yard.

"Artorius!" The men immediately stopped what they were doing and looked towards the stable door, watching as Dagonet appeared, his eyes wild. Arthur strode towards him, meeting him at the entrance of the field.

"Arthur, they have Iona. They have my wife." Without waiting for instructions from Arthur, the other men ran to their armour and weapons, wordlessly strapping on all the gear they could carry and running to their horses. Arthur grabbed Dagonet's shoulder to get his attention, as the giant was about to rush back into the stable.

"Who, Dagonet? Who has her?" Dagonet forced himself to concentrate on his commander, locking his gaze on Arthur's grey eyes.

"Saxons. To the south. She told me to come back for you. I _left_ her, Arthur, with a hundred savage men." Arthur nodded wordlessly and followed Dagonet into the stable, past where Jols was caring for Agravain and Ardin who looked as though they had been ridden into the ground. The stable was a hum of frantic activity as the men readied their horses, loading their weapons for a fast trip. Arthur sent word to Vanora, who immediately sent down travel rations for several days, which the men put into their packs grudgingly, as if having the necessary food meant they couldn't take more weapons.

Dagonet saddled one of the spare horses and swung aboard, his eyes fierce as he waiting impatiently for the others, checking and rechecking that he had transferred all his weaponry over to the new mount. The horse sensed his frustration and panic, rearing and crow-hopping under its anxious rider. Finally, after what seemed like days, Dagonet led the charge out of the gate towards the south, every heartbeat flying on ahead towards the woman who owned his heart.


	16. Chapter 16

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Things go sideways in the worst way.

* * *

It was dark by the time they reached the hill overlooking the Saxon's camp, a fact that chafed at Dagonet. Arthur had imposed caution in their riding, wanting to save the horses for the return journey - and while Dagonet understood his reasoning, he still resented every second it took to get there. Finally they were standing on the hill, just inside the tree line, looking down at the dozens of brazen fires and glowering at the idiocy and arrogance of the company that posted just two sentries.

They slipped silently down the hill, moving like shadows or ghosts in the night. Almost at the very edge of the camp there was a small copse of trees where they gathered for one last moment. Something reflected in the moonlight and caught Lancelot's eye, so he motioned for Gawain to follow him a few steps into the trees. They found the body of a woman, starved skinny, naked and severely beaten, her hands tied tight with thick cords that had cut into her wrists. For one heart-wrenching moment Dagonet watched as they carefully rolled her over, his knees sagging in relief when they motioned that it wasn't Iona. Fury tightened his face into a mask, and he adjusted his hold on his sword.

The first sentry unwittingly strode right past the copse, totally unaware of the seven men waiting in the shadows. At the last possible second, Tristan grabbed him and dragged him into the trees, a hand over his mouth and a knife at his throat. The Saxon looked up in fear at the towering fire-eyed giant in front of him and what seemed like dozens of blades pointed at his mid-section. The giant's voice was a low rumble straight from hell.

"Where is she?" The sentry promptly wet himself, blubbering silently behind the iron grip over his mouth.

"Dagonet, look." Galahad was pointing at the sentry's hand, at the ring that barely fit onto his littlest finger. A low growl came from Dagonet's throat as he grabbed the man's hand, drawing a knife and swiftly cutting his finger off, throwing the offending digit to the side, his hand curling around Iona's wedding ring. The man's shriek of pain was cut off by Tristan's blade slitting his throat, the scout smiling grimly at first blood.

The men dispersed, moving like angels of death through the camp, killing everyone they found. They slipped in and out of the tents; dispatching the inhabitants silently, fear for Iona making their movements almost a blur of speed.

Tristan ducked into one of the last tents and ducked out just as quickly, whistling low to get the attention of the other knights. Dagonet ran towards him, his heart racing, pausing for a moment at the entrance of the tent to steel himself towards what was inside. Then he lifted the flap of the tent and entered.

The tent smelled like a horrifying mix of blood and sweat, with other odours that Dagonet didn't want to think about. It was fairly small, with a torch in a stand providing light to the entire room, and there was a pile of filthy furs along one wall. His wife was laying on the bed.

She was completely still, without a shred of clothing on or a blanket of any type to cover her, curled into ball on her side, the torchlight glinting dully off her hollow eyes. For one terrifying moment Dagonet thought she was dead and the world seemed to collapse down onto him, but then he saw one shallow breath, then another. He sunk down onto his knees, unable to move for several moments, just staring at her.

Her hands were bound like the woman in the trees, the cords far too tight and cutting into her wrists. Blood streaked down her arms to her swollen hands. She was a mottled mess of crusted dirt, bruises and bloodstains from her head down to her feet, and he could see what looked like whip marks starting on her shoulders and probably continuing down her back past his range of vision. Her torso, what he could see of it, had a strange pattern of small wounds that looked as though they had started as tiny punctures and then dragged slightly to make shallow cuts. When he realized what they were, bile rose in his mouth and a red haze descended in front of his eyes. _Studded tunic like mine…they left it on when they…_

He rose again with the image of his injured and violated wife burned into his mind, ducking out of the tent and striding with stiff legs several steps away. He looked up to see that Tristan had anticipated him and had quickly conducted his brothers-in-arms to round up what Saxons were still alive, prodding the dozen or so men into a ragged clump.

A berserker rage came over Dagonet as he looked at the barbarian men in front of him, all sound filtering out until he could only hear the pounding of blood in his ears. He saw Iona in his mind's eye, saw how she would have fought valiantly and skilfully. He saw how dozens of men would have rushed to overpower her, saw how she would have laid waste to as many of them as she could before being brought down. He saw how they would have whipped her, felt every lash she received tear into his own shoulders. He saw how they would have beat her, fists and feet and elbows smashing into her small frame. He saw how they would have raped her, over and over again, taking the beautiful body that she gave to him willingly and exuberantly and passionately and treating it like worthless garbage. And through it all, his wife wouldn't have made a sound – wouldn't have cried out, wouldn't have even whimpered. She would have waited, the light slowly going out of her eyes as she waited for him to come and rescue her, waiting a night and a day that would have seemed like a thousand years.

Dagonet slowly realized that he was breathing harshly, sweat making his eyes sting and the muscles in his arms screaming at him. He gradually became aware of his surroundings again, looking down to see his axe clenched tightly in his hands, gore dripping from it. He looked up in surprise and saw the dozen Saxon men completely obliterated in front of him, limbs and heads and chunks of torso scattered about like rocks. Just beyond them were the other knights, clumped together and staring at him like he was an unpredictable wild beast, wariness and fear in more than a few eyes. Only Tristan and Bors met his gaze squarely; Bors who had a woman of his own, and Tristan who understood vengeance in the face of helplessness.

The axe dropped from Dagonet's grasp and he stumbled back slightly, turning stiffly to walk back to the tent. He fumbled with the clasps of his armour as he went, ripping his studded tunic off and dropping it like it burned him, then grabbing a Saxon's cape to wipe the spattered blood from his arms and face. After a split-second of thought, he undid his own cape from its fastenings on his armour and rolled it up under his arm, knowing that Iona would need some sort of covering.

Everything was exactly the same inside the tent; Iona was in the same position, still staring at the torch. Dagonet walked towards her on cat's feet, crouching down an arm's length away. Her eyes glinted at his approach, in recognition of another person in the tent, and then slid shut, a small tear leaking out of the corner of her eye. Dagonet felt his heart break all over again.

"Iona…." Nothing at first, but then a small movement under her eyelids. Dagonet swallowed thickly and tried again.

"Iona." Movement again, this time immediately. Her eyes cracked open slightly, not far enough to see, but enough to give Dagonet hope. He quickly scanned the small room, finding a water skin in the corner and returning to hold it to Iona's cracked lips.

"Here, love. Water." At first it just leaked out the corner of her slackened mouth, but then the taste and sensation registered in her fevered brain and she gulped greedily, clutching at the skin with swollen hands. Dagonet let her drink for a moment, then pulled the skin away, not wanting to make her sick. She instantly lowered her head to the bed again, but her eyes were more animated than they had been.

Dagonet drew a small dagger from his greave, grasping her bound hands with his other hand. A small cry escaped Iona's lips and she drew back from the knife in alarm, trying to pull her hands out of Dagonet's grasp, but he just tightened his grip, cutting the cords as gently as he could. He used more water to soften the leather bands, and then pulling them away from her wrists. The disruption of her wounds caused them to start bleeding again and Iona winced, but Dagonet didn't stop until her hands were free.

As soon as he let her go, Iona stiffly scrambled away from him, cowering against the wall of the tent. Tears gleamed in her eyes, and Dagonet choked back tears of his own. Using slow, deliberate movements, he unfolded his huge cape and offered it to her, letting go immediately when she grabbed it and held it to her chest, staring at him like a cornered wildcat. His jaw clenched and he sat back, letting his gaze roam everywhere but to the woman in the corner. His voice was soft.

"It'll be good to get you out of here, Iona. Go back to the fort. Vanora and her brood are worried sick about you." He shot a glance at her, noting that she was still looking at him warily, and then looked away from her again.

Iona's hand was inching towards the water skin again, but she snatched it back when she saw him looking. He nudged it to within her reach with his toe, leaving his leg outstretched, his other knee bent and relaxed. She paused for a long moment, then braved his nearness and grabbed the skin, bringing it to her mouth and drinking slowly, her eyes on him constantly.

"No one even hesitated when I went back, you know. Not one of the knights. They all love you like a sister. They're all here now, came to help me get you back." Something flickered in Iona's eyes and she lowered the waterskin, letting it fall from her hand onto the bed and pulling his cape more securely around her. Her eyes were different now, more alive, and Dagonet felt hope pull at his heart for the first time since she responded to her name.

"Bors is the loud one that likes to drink. Lancelot is always teasing you, always trying to get you to leave me. But you never even considered it. Well, as far as I know." He chuckled slightly, watching out of the corner of his eye as she started to creep towards him, agonizingly slowly, her wide eyes on him the entire time.

"Tristan taught you how to shoot a bow, remember? That was the same time I taught you how to ride a horse." Iona blinked, her voice cracking as she spoke in a whisper.

"Ardin…" Dagonet nodded, watching as she inched closer bit by bit, longing to sweep her up in his arms and never let her go again.

"Yes. She's your horse. I'm afraid I tired her out on the way back to the fort. I was in a hurry, though. Didn't want to leave you here any longer than I had to." Iona blinked again, recognition flashing in her eyes as she remembered. Dagonet swallowed, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Couldn't stand leaving you here. Thought it was a bad idea. I've never ridden so fast in my life. Felt like it took forever to get back once I got the other knights." Iona was now within arm's reach, and it took all Dagonet's concentration to stay still.

"I found your ring, Iona. Your wedding ring." Her eyes snapped to his and she froze, glancing down at his right hand, and then looking at her bare finger. He watched as emotions filled her gaze, flashing through her brown eyes as she stared at him. She lifted her hand towards him, clenching and unclenching her fist several times before placing it, feather light, on his arm. Dagonet's eyes slid shut at her touch, tears pricking behind his lids. With a super-human effort he stayed motionless, his muscles tensing. Her hand slid up his arm and across his chest, icy cold fingers skimming across his collarbone and up his neck to rest on his cheek. He opened his eyes slowly and met her gaze, tears brimming at the corners of his eyelids, her face just inches away from his. Iona's eyes flickered one last time and Dagonet saw complete recollection flood her gaze. Tears welled up in her brown eyes and her voice was a whisper.

"Dagonet…" He nodded, tears starting to flow down his cheeks.

"Yes, Iona. Your Dagonet."

She collapsed brokenly onto her husband's chest and sobbed.


	17. Chapter 17

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Arthur hears a few reports, and gives a few orders.

* * *

"How is she?"

Arthur's low voice was filled with compassion as he looked down at Dagonet, seated beside Iona as she lay in their bed. It had been a week since they had found Iona, a week since Dagonet had walked out of the Saxon tent holding his wife, her broken body shrouded in his big cape. The other knights had clustered around them, hardly daring to breathe as the large knight walked stoically towards his horse, relinquishing the woman to Tristan only briefly so he could mount his horse, and then immediately taking her in his arms again. Tristan and Lancelot had gone with them, riding slowly, carefully, back to the fort, while Arthur and the remaining knights stayed behind to burn the Saxon bodies and their camp.

And now she lay huddled on her side to protect the whip marks on her back, the bruises on her face mottled a disgusting green and yellow. She breathed shallowly, as if afraid to draw a true breath, her small body even smaller than usual under the covers. Arthur could see the brokenness in Dagonet's eyes as he looked down on his wife, clearing his throat to answer his commander.

"Her body is healing well. She has no broken bones, so once her bruises and cuts are healed, she will be fine." Arthur caught the implied meaning in Dagonet's words and clenched his fist in anger. _She is not pregnant by that Saxon scum, then._ The larger man sighed.

"But her mind...that is not something I can heal with potions and salves and stitches. That is up to her. Her nightmares..." Arthur nodded, knowing that he wasn't the only one to have heard the heart-wrenching screams coming from Iona & Dagonet's room for the past several nights. He rested his hand on Dagonet's shoulder and giving it a slight squeeze.

"She is a strong woman, Dagonet. She will pull through." Dagonet nodded as well, clenching his jaw as if he were fighting back tears.

"She has said nothing, Arthur. Nothing since I got her out. Not in Latin, anyway...she was muttering in English, the same thing over and over again. I think it is a prayer or something. She was saying..._Comforter, where, where is your comforting? Mary, mother of us, where is your relief? __Creep, Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all life death does end and each day dies with sleep."_

There was silence in the room as Dagonet's voice died, and Arthur breathed a prayer for his two knights, not knowing what else to do. He said nothing when Dagonet looked up at him, anguish in his face. Arthur simply let him see the empathy and pain in his own green eyes, and Dagonet nodded slightly, swallowing hard and looking down to where his hand was resting gently on Iona's fragile one. Arthur spoke softly.

"Why don't you go and stretch your legs and get something to eat, Dagonet? I can stay here with Iona. It would do you good to move around." Dagonet looked as if he was going to argue for a moment, then nodded slightly. He stood stiffly and stretched his back, feeling his joints crack and pop from his long stillness. He bent over Iona, whispering in her ear, then kissed her cheek softly. With one last look down at his wife, he walked silently to the door, turning back at the threshold.

"If anything..." Arthur nodded.

"I'll send for you immediately." Dagonet nodded as well, then disappeared into the hallway. Arthur settled into the chair he had just vacated, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands. There was a long moment of silence as he watched Iona's face for any movement, then he sighed and looked down at his hands again. The air in the room was still around its two inhabitants, and the summer sun brought a hazy light through the window. Arthur sat for several minutes, praying for the woman lying on the bed next to him. Praying for her health, for her mind, and for her new husband. Praying for all his knights, as his mind drifted to the missive he had received from Rome that morning. _Bishop Germanius... _the man who had been one of his father's confidantes and allies was about to embark on the long journey west, carrying the precious documents that would give his knights what they had most desired for the last fifteen years. He knew that many of his men tried not to think about what they were going to do afterwards, while dreaming of it at the same time - their life was too uncertain to cement anything that may slip through their fingers. He knew that most, if not all of them, would be travelling with him as far as Rome before striking out further east towards their homeland.

_Three more months. Three months, and no more uncertainty. Merciful Lord, if I can only bring my men through the next three months, they will be rewarded with the freedom they have deserved all along. And I will return to Rome to a life of peace, with no Woads or Saxons._

"They were a scouting party." Iona's voice was gravelly from lack of use, but her brown eyes were clear when Arthur's gaze snapped up to meet them.

"Iona!" She cleared her throat and winced slightly, shaking her head when Arthur moved to stand.

"Arthur." The Roman paused for a moment, weighing his promise to Dagonet against the look in Iona's eyes. He slowly sat back down again, a thousand questions on his lips. Iona cleared her throat again, and Arthur took a cup of water from the nightstand to hold it to her lips, supporting her head with his other hand. She drank slowly, awkwardly, then rested her head on the pillow again with a sigh.

"Their king wants to expand his territory. They were to get the lay of the land...and wait for instructions when the king is ready. Not long." Arthur nodded, his gaze calculating.

"Why in the south?" Iona shrugged gingerly.

"Ambitious king. Wants the whole island." Arthur nodded again, already starting to plan for imminent attacks from the Saxons, his earlier thoughts of peace flown from his mind. He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes flitting over Iona's bruised face and battered body. Finally he nodded slightly, as if making up his mind.

"Titus, the fort recorder, is very old." He met Iona's gaze briefly, then continued.

"We will need a new recorder soon. I would like you to take the job." He saw Iona's jaw clench slightly, and looked back down at his hands, rushing on.

"You are not under oath to Rome, like the men...you can leave the cavalry with no punishment. Rome doesn't even know you exist. No one would think any less of you, either. You would be safe, Iona. You would never have to fight again." He looked up and was not surprised to see anger in Iona's eyes. Her voice was low.

"I am not weak, Artorius. And I am not broken. I am not unable nor unwilling to continue fighting for you. You will never suggest such a thing again." The commander nodded and smiled slightly, having known that she would respond that way, but wanting to offer it to her anyways. Iona was silent for a long moment.

"You're wrong, anyway. The Saxons and Woads will never stop coming. Someday, maybe sooner than later, maybe even with this attempt by the Saxons, the fort itself will be under attack, and everyone in it will be forced to fight or flee. You know that it is true." Arthur nodded gravely, his heart heavy with the weight of leadership. Iona's voice lightened somewhat.

"Besides. That will keep me safe for a few months, but what then? We won't be staying here. At any rate, the fort recorder is a position for a young man. I think Holger, the blacksmith's son, would be a good choice. He can read and write and cipher very well. And he is not the oldest boy, so his father is not looking at him to continue the trade." Arthur smiled at her, standing with one fluid movement.

"Thank you, Iona. I'll go get Dagonet now. He's been waiting for you to wake." For a split second he saw something flash across Iona's face, and looked at her in alarm.

"You don't...want me to?" Iona's eyes slid shut and she sighed.

"I can get myself through anything, Arthur. I have had more practice at it than anyone should. But I do not know how to get Dagonet through it." Arthur frowned down at her.

"I had not thought you were so selfish. Dagonet's heart is wrapped up in you, Iona. You put up a wall between the two of you, and you will destroy him." Iona's eyes flew open again at his blunt comment, and Arthur could see tears gathering. She shook her head.

"I do not want to put a wall between us, Arthur. I need him, desperately. He has been such a rock for me...even when I wasn't awake, I somehow knew he was next to me. And that thought brought me strength. But we depend on each other. And I cannot heal myself and be there for him, at the same time. Not yet."

Arthur pursed his lips at her.

"I understand that you had been alone for years before you and Dagonet found each other. Maybe not physically, but still alone in your marriage. You have had too much practice at depending on yourself. Now you don't have to, Iona...and you will find that even just acknowledging Dagonet's presence in the room - rather than pretending to sleep all the time - will do wonders for the both of you." Iona had the good grace to blush, and Arthur's gaze softened.

"The thing that we have all realized in the past few years, Iona, is that you and Dagonet are best together. Don't go back to the way you were before. You are a strong woman, but you're stronger with your husband. If you continue, you may drive a wedge between the two of you without meaning to. And now, especially now, you need to be united." Iona nodded, knowing he was right, and feeling tears prick behind her eyes as she thought about how Dagonet must be feeling.

"Arthur..." The Roman waited, his eyes kind as he looked down at his knight. Iona's lips trembled.

"Go find my husband?" Arthur gathered his cape in a great, sweeping bow.

"As you wish, Lady."

* * *

Iona was muttering snippets from a poem called "No worse, there is none" by Gerard Manley Hopkins.


	18. Chapter 18

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Dagonet and Iona butt heads, and Iona mends some fences while finding others in disrepair.

* * *

Three months later, on the day before the one that the knights had been looking forward to for fifteen years, Dagonet looked down at Arthur with steel in his blue eyes, while Iona looked up at her husband with fire in her brown ones. Arthur's voice was calm, but had a hint of exasperation that only his knights would have been able to pick up.

"Dagonet, I understand your concern, but everyone is going. We will be together the entire time, and there will be no surprises. Bishop Germanius _must_ reach the fort safely, so Iona must come with us." Dagonet shook his head.

"Iona stays." His wife huffed her displeasure at him, blowing her raggedy bangs away from her eyes.

"Iona does _not_ stay. Iona goes. Iona does her job, because _Iona_, husband, trusts in her brothers. Trusts in _you_." Dagonet pursed his lips at his wife, his voice a low rumble.

"Look where that got you last time." Iona rocked back on her heels as if she had been slapped, understanding instantly. Arthur silently slipped out the door to give them privacy, and when Iona spoke, her voice was barely audible.

"You think that it's your fault." Dagonet didn't reply, but his eyes flickered and Iona started gearing herself up for a confrontation that she should have seen coming and prevented long ago. Her hands fluttered uselessly for a moment, landing briefly on her hips before reaching for her husband, pulling him gently to a chair and pushing him into it. She looked down at him for a moment before sighing and climbing into his lap, cursing herself as every kind of selfish fool. At the back of her mind she noted how Dagonet held himself stiffly, but filed the information away for later. She rested her head on his shoulder, her voice low and neutral.

"If it had been you and Bors, and only you were able to speak the language, what would you have done?" No answer, but she hadn't really been expecting one.

"If it had been you and Bors, and only _he_ was able to speak the language, what would you have done?" Silence.

"What if it were Tristan? Or Galahad? Or anyone other than me? What if Arthur had told you to leave him and go back for the others?" She waited for a moment, but answered her own questions when Dagonet remained tight-lipped.

"If it had been you, you would not blame anyone else for what happened. If it had been anyone else, you would have gone for help and would not be blaming yourself this much. It's because it's me that you're having a hard time, even though I am now perfectly healthy, and not one of the knights were even injured." Dagonet's jaw clenched, but Iona continued.

"There was no other option, Dagonet, and you know it. Arthur needed the information that I got from the camp, and the benefits of that far outweigh the consequences." Dagonet's low voice exploded from his chest.

"The _consequences_?" Iona found herself falling to the floor as Dagonet stood angrily, reaching with impartial hands almost as an after-thought to catch her and set her on her feet again. He began to pace angrily, his hands clenching into fists.

"I had to see my _wife _broken and violated inside a Saxon tent. The wife I promised to protect for the rest of my life only days before. The wife I _left _to go for help when I should have stayed and defended her no matter what. The wife who had to endure all manner of torture and filth at the hands of that Saxon _scum_while I ran around the countryside like some half-wit." He whirled around to stare at her, his eyes blazing.

"What kind of a husband does that make me?" It was Iona's turn to stand speechless as Dagonet resumed his pacing, cursing himself in Latin and Sarmatian.

"It's never going to happen again. If I can't protect you when we're out on patrol together, you're never going on patrol again. You'll stay here, you'll be the fort recorder, and you'll be safe. If I can't protect you like I should, then I'll make sure there's never another opportunity for you to be in danger." Iona's voice burst away from her before she could stop it.

"Bloody _hell_ you will!" Dagonet stopped in his tracks, momentarily diverted from his tirade as he turned to look at his wife who was standing with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face.

"I have stayed here, in this fort, for the last three months, stayed behind while you all went out on patrols. I have let you coddle me for the last three months, because I needed you to. But now - now things are different. Now I'm ready. Now I want my life back. Now I'm not content with just training with you in the practice yard. You are getting your _freedom_ tomorrow, Dagonet! You think I can live like some pampered princess while my husband and brothers are out putting themselves in danger? You think I'll be able to stand the uncertainty of not knowing if you're coming back when I know I could influence the outcome of a fight if I were there? You think I'm the type of woman who'll wait patiently, watching for you, and quietly accept it if you don't return? Do you expect me to wait, tomorrow of all days, to see if you don't come back? _Do you know me at all_?" Dagonet folded his arms across his big chest, looking down at her from beneath a lowered brow. Iona stalked up to him and forced him to bend down to her level with a hand at the back of his neck.

"It was _stupid_, Dagonet. It was complete and utter idiocy, plain and simple. And more than anyone else, I know that. You had to see it, Dag, but I was _living_it, and I am so very, very sorry for what I made you do. You think it's your fault that it happened, but it's no one's fault but my own. You think you're not worthy of trust, but the fact that you came and got me out proves that no one else is worthier." She softened, strong hands at his jaw line and foreheads pressed together.

"Don't lock me up here, Dagonet. Don't separate us out of fear for me. I need to be with you, need to fight beside you, to fight my way back into being normal. If I run away from our life, let you protect me by shutting me up, then we've let them _win_. And I couldn't handle that." Dagonet's eyes slid shut and his shoulders slumped, knowing she was right, and knowing he was all bluster and smoke anyways - they would be leaving the fort in a matter of days, and then where would that leave his grand plan for her to never be in danger? Iona ran her hands down his strong arms, rubbing circles into his shoulders and feathering her hands back up to his neck. Dagonet let his arms slip around his wife, holding her close for the first time in weeks. Iona's voice was soft.

"Besides...wouldn't you rather I was beside you in a fight? You take so much looking after." The big man snorted, a wry chuckle escaping from him. Iona smiled as well, then stood on her toes to kiss her husband. Dagonet stiffened slightly, but Iona was persistent and after a second he relaxed, pulling her closer, drinking in her kiss like he had just survived a century's drought. He had missed her, missed her touch, missed holding her close through the long, cold nights when he was afraid to touch her for fear of frightening her in turn. But now that she was in his arms, he was caught up in the familiar feeling of her lithe body pressed against him, of one hand tangled in her wild hair and the other splayed across her back, of her quick mouth pressed against his, of how she made him forget everything except her.

Iona, for her part, almost wept at the welcome feeling of Dagonet's mouth on hers, at how secure she felt inside the circle of his strong arms. She pressed more insistently against him, deepening the kiss, running her hands over him the way she knew he loved, loving the way their bodies fit together, and loving the feeling of him under her hands.

But just when she could feel how much she was affecting him, Dagonet abruptly pulled away, holding her gently at arms length until she was stable on her feet. Then he dropped his hands, and the loss of contact felt like an ice-bath to Iona's flushed skin. His voice was husky as he looked almost everywhere except at her.

"I'm going to go make sure Agravain and Ardin are ready for tomorrow." With that, he was gone - leaving a very dazed and confused wife in his wake.


	19. Chapter 19

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.

Summary: Dagonet and Iona get their groove back.

* * *

Several hours later, Iona lay in their bed, staring into the fire. Dagonet still hadn't returned from the twenty-minute task of checking on their horses and making sure their supplies were ready for the next day, and Iona was pretty sure she had worked out why.

_It's not that he's casting aside something...dirty... It's that he doesn't want to hurt me anymore than I already have been._ She ran over all the possible options again, continually arriving back at her first conclusion. _He's willing to put what he wants aside to make sure that I'm alright._ Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized how considerate her husband was, but she dashed them away just as quickly as they appeared.

_Of course, the big dolt just assumes what I need instead of talking about it._ She chuckled slightly under her breath, watching the dancing flames. For the past three months, ever since her capture and rescue, Dagonet had been the soul of consideration and support. But when it came time for the man himself to get some rest, he chose to sleep in a chair by the fire, rather than in bed beside her. Iona had only caught him at it once, as he would make sure she was asleep before turning in himself, and always awoke before she did. She didn't think any of the other knights were aware, and he never slept in the stables - as that would make people talk - so as far as anyone knew, they were as solid as they ever had been. _Except we're not. I miss my husband. I miss his body._ Iona had barely resolved how to fix the problem when she heard footsteps in the hall outside. Carefully schooling her face into a mask of sleeping relaxation, she had only just closed her eyes before Dagonet quietly opened the door and entered, shutting the door just as quietly behind him.

For a long moment Iona felt his gaze on her, then felt the air shift as he took silent steps towards her, kneeling beside the bed. It took all her concentration to stay still as he caressed her face with a feather-light touch, pressing gentle kisses to her brow, her eyes, her cheek, and her lips. His voice was whisper-soft.

"I love you, Iona." Then he was standing and moving away from her, clearing his throat softly and positioning the chair in front of the fire. Iona cracked her eyes open the slightest bit to watch him stretch out his shoulders and back, rubbing at a chronic knot in his shoulder from wielding his sword. He stoked the fire and added another log, banking the flames so they would last far into the night. He retrieved a blanket from the chest at the end of their bed and folded his long frame into the chair that was much too small for him to sleep comfortably, draping the blanket over his legs, crossing his arms over his chest, and resting his head against the back of the chair. He cleared his throat again, shifted slightly, and was still.

When it was clear after a few minutes that Dagonet had no intention of moving, Iona sighed and threw back the covers, jumping out of bed and covering the distance between them to stand in front of her husband in the time it took for him to open his eyes. Dagonet's eyebrows flickered at her in surprise, and she tilted her head quizzically.

"A feather bed with a wife who loves you, and you choose to sleep in front of the fire in a chair that is nowhere near big enough to be comfortable." Dagonet pursed his lips slightly, and Iona could see the strain of months of improper sleep now etched into his eyes and face. She shook her head and climbed into his lap for the second time that day, this time straddling his legs and pulling his arms around her waist, wrapping her strong arms around his shoulders and pressing herself against him, their faces only inches apart. Her voice was low and light.

"The thought of touching me disgusts you now." Dagonet's response was instantaneous, a look of shock over his face and a startled reply.

"How could you ever think that?" Iona shrugged, a slight smile playing over her face as Dagonet's arms tightened around her.

"I don't. I just wanted a reaction." Dagonet pursed his lips at her and sighed. His voice was a rumble in his chest that Iona felt through the thin cloth of her shift.

"My body knows you, Ai. If we shared a bed...and I wasn't awake enough to realize... I'd never forgive myself if I hurt you or frightened you." Iona melted at the concern and fear he put into his words, drowning in the love and hesitancy in his eyes. She cupped his face in her small hands and placed a whisper of a kiss on his lips, her voice husky.

"What if I needed you to chase away the bad memories?" Dagonet's eyes flickered in surprise, and she smiled slowly, standing and pulling him to his feet.

"Here, husband. You've taken such good care of me. It's my turn now."

With gentle but business-like hands, Iona led Dagonet over to their bed and quickly stripped him of his clothes, directing him to lay on his stomach. His gaze was questioning until she climbed out of his range of vision, moving to straddle his hips so she had access to his entire back. Then, with slow, strong strokes, she started to massage - starting at his neck and arms, then moving to his shoulders and down to his waist until his whole back was like butter under her hands and he was purring like a lion kitten. Iona moved down to massage his thighs, calves, and feet, watching him grow so relaxed he looked like he was melting into the bed. She softly directed him to turn over to his back, and he obeyed mindlessly, rolling over with sigh and throwing one arm across her side of the bed, his eyes closed. Iona smirked at him, then crept up to the head of the bed again, studying his relaxed face for a moment before leaning down and tracing the line of his collarbone with the very tip of her tongue.

Dagonet's breathing changed instantly, although his eyes remained shut. Iona watched him with a half-smile on her lips and she continued to follow the definition of his muscles, sliding over his chest, down his breastbone, covering his torso with kisses and exploring his skin with her tongue. She scratched her nails lightly down his chest and hips, thrilling at the sound of his groan. Then for a long moment she paused, carefully sifting through what she was feeling, weighing what she wanted to do against what she thought she could do, and finding no discomfort or panic. After a minute she looked up to see that Dagonet had propped himself up on his elbows and was looking down at her, gauging her mood and waiting to see what she would do. Iona saw heated arousal in his eyes, but also saw patience and consideration and love, and her lips slowly curved into a wicked smile.

With deliberate movements, Iona pulled her shift over her head and tossed it aside, watching Dagonet's eyes darken even more as he took in the sight of his proud and beautiful wife kneeling in front of him.

And when he reached for her, Iona went willingly.


	20. Chapter 20

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: Business as usual?

* * *

Iona had never tried any drugs or even over-indulged in alcohol more than a handful of times during her university days - but galloping across Britain's green hills with the knights in a rolling, shifting mass felt to her like the best high in the whole world. This was where she belonged - on the back of her horse, with her sword and her bow at her side, and her brothers constantly around her. Feeling the effects of her long convalescence rolling off of her like so much dirty water, Iona spread her arms wide and closed her eyes, guiding Ardin with her knees and breathing deep; loving the feel of the wind on her exposed skin. Low chuckles echoed around her, and a smile split her face as she opened her eyes to see the men enjoying her delight with grins that matched her own. She rode close enough to Lancelot to punch him in the shoulder.

"Ow, Ai!" Lancelot's ever-present smirk fell into a pout as he rubbed his shoulder with feigned distress. Iona just shrugged.

"You were looking too full of yourself again, Lancelot. These boys haven't been cutting you down to size regularly enough." Lancelot's eyelids drooped seductively as he came alongside her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

"It takes a woman to regularly handle my size, Iona." Shouts of laughter flew around the group while Iona rolled her eyes, and Dagonet neatly rode between Lancelot and Iona, pushing Lancelot almost out of the saddle as he did so. His voice rumbled in his chest.

"Yes, but it takes a man to handle this wild woman - not a boy." Lancelot grinned.

"All the more reason for her to be with me."

Iona shook her hair out of her eyes, grasping the shoulder of Dagonet's armour and pulling him towards her.

"Did you boys ever think..." she kissed him, then lightly slapped his cheek. "Did you ever think that maybe _I_ was the one who had to handle _you_? You lot take so much looking after."

Gawain grinned at her from beneath his lion's mane of hair, giving her a sideways hug as he rode past.

"You can look after me any day, Iona. If Dagonet's more relaxed appearance today is any indication, you handle your men well."

Iona's response was cut short as the eight knights came to a stop at the crest of a hill, looking down into the valley below to see a small, enclosed carriage accompanied by a group of Roman soldiers on horseback. Gawain's voice was suddenly more serious.

"As promised, the bishop's carriage." Galahad's smile was quick.

"Our freedom, Bors." Bors grinned back at him, his eyes closing in mock ecstasy.

"Mmm... I can almost taste it." Dagonet reached for Iona's hand and enfolded it in his warm palm. His voice was a rich timber that made her stomach swirl with pleasure.

"Your passage to Rome, Arthur." Iona glanced over to see Arthur silently acknowledge the comment, his eyes intent on the carriage below. _It's his freedom as much as theirs_, she thought in surprise. _He was also just a boy when their servitude began._ She sighed, suddenly feeling very old and very motherly towards these once-boys and all their lost years. She felt Dagonet squeeze her hand and looked up to see him watching her, a question in his eyes. Iona smiled and lifted their linked hands to plant a kiss on his fingers, speaking softly in English.

_"Our leader deserves his freedom as well." _Dagonet nodded and was about to reply when a sudden roar from the plain caught their attention.

Woads poured out of the forest towards the carriage, arrows flying towards the Roman soldiers who moved to surround the small vehicle. Almost as one person, the knights and their commander spurred their horses and thundered down the hill, falling quickly into formation as Arthur drew Excalibur and shouted a war cry. Urgency sped their movements and weapons were unsheathed as they raced, desperate to reach the bishop in time.

After what felt like aeons but was really only heartbeats, they reached the edge of the battle, crashing through the ragged line and felling Woads as they went. Iona's pulse thundered in her ears as the familiar chaos of battle surrounded her; first Lancelot dismounted, drawing his twin swords as he ran - then Dagonet launched himself off Agravain towards to Woads and the river. Iona threw a leg across Ardin's neck and jumped, hitting the ground at a run and slicing through two Woads in quick succession. A feral smile crossed her mouth as she fought, feeling blood pulse through her veins again after what seemed like years of inactivity.

_Wait..._ A trick of the light or her eyes, she wasn't sure - but for a moment the Woad running toward her had flaxen hair instead of dark. Iona shook her head, blinking furiously, her movements almost dangerously slow for a split second as she moved to defend herself. _There, again._ She stumbled back, grinding the heel of her hand into her eye, trying to clean the image of a swarthy blonde man in furs from her mind. The man grinned and raised his sword, bringing it towards her with skull-crushing force. She parried weakly, head reeling, smelling the stench of the Saxon tent. The force of the blow knocked her backwards and sent her sword flying. She fell, the breath knocked out of her, the dark tattooed Woad standing over her. _No - the Saxon._ She watched dumbly, paralysed, as the sword was raised to deliver the killing blow, a mocking laugh on a cruel face.

And then... and then the Woad was standing, shocked, the blade of a sword protruding from his chest. Iona's breath returned painfully as Dagonet was there to lift her to her feet and press her sword into her nerveless hand, his eyes dark with concern. Iona scrambled to get her wits back, chest heaving to catch breath, grounding herself on the lifeline of Dagonet's eyes. She could hear Bors bellowing a war cry in the background and nodded, absently patting Dagonet's arm.

"I'm fine... I'm fine. Just tripped." Dagonet nodded with a slight frown, but followed her to where Arthur stood with his sword at a Woad's neck. Their commander's voice was hard.

"Why did Merlin send you south of the wall?" The man responded with a guttural voice, defiant even in the face of death - and for one last brief second, Iona again saw a Saxon in his place. She shook her head to clear it, realizing that Lancelot had called her name, asking her to translate what the Woad was saying to Arthur.

"Ah... he said that killing him... would make him a martyr." She turned woodenly and walked to Ardin, past the group of Roman soldiers whose commander watched her intently. Concentrating briefly on cleaning her sword and sheathing it, she paused for a moment to press her forehead to Ardin's neck. _Come on, Ai, pull yourself together. No more Saxons._ She took a deep, cleansing breath, and then another, feeling her heart rate return to normal. When she felt herself back under control, she turned and strode purposefully to join the line of knights backing Arthur, who was speaking with the Roman commander. _Not commander... the bishop._ His voice was cultured, refined, his manner regal - and Iona instantly disliked him. As she slipped into place beside Dagonet, she shook her head so that her hair partially obstructed her features, hooded eyes watching the bishop through the thick fall of dark hair.

"And here are the great Sarmatian knights we have heard so much of in Rome!" He dismounted, his gaze travelling over each one in turn, lingering on Iona in a way that made her skin crawl. His voice was brusque as he walked with Arthur towards the carriage.

"I thought the Woads controlled the north of Hadrian's Wall." Arthur nodded.

"They do, but they occasionally venture south. Rome's anticipated withdrawal from Britain has only increased their daring." The simpering man behind the bishop piped up nervously.

"Woads?" The knights exchanged glances before Gawain and Galahad explained, as if to a child. The bishop's eyes were calculating.

"Who leads them?" Lancelot leaned back in the saddle, his voice low.

"He's called Merlin. A dark magician, some say." This seemed to give the bishop pause, and Arthur smoothly stepped in before anyone else could speak. Sending Tristan to scout the road ahead, he turned back to the Roman.

"Please do not worry, Bishop. We will protect you." The bishop smiled in an oily manner, and Iona felt her skin crawl again.

"I have no doubt, commander. No doubt." He ascended the carriage steps regally, his major-domo scurrying behind him, muttering.

"Dozens don't worry me nearly so much as thousands." Lancelot glowered behind him, his voice dark.

"Thousands?" The knights looked at each other silently - then as one moved to mount their horses and follow the carriage.


	21. Chapter 21

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: The return to the fort.

* * *

The ride back to the fort was bittersweet, Iona decided. Laughing and joking together was as second nature to the knights as fighting was, but there was an undercurrent of hope as they discussed, for the first time, what their plans were. A hope that almost caused a lump in Iona's throat as she thought about what the formalities that night meant - even with proof of freedom in hand, they were under no circumstances going to disband immediately... but it was still the beginning of the end of their time together.

She sighed again, feeling Dagonet ride close and grasp her hand. His eyes were gentle as he looked down at her.

"You've been doing that a lot lately." She smiled wryly.

"Just feeling old, I suppose." He smiled, pressing a kiss to her hand.

"You? Never. My wife is to be young forever." Iona chuckled, her mood lifting at the love in his eyes.

"And what sorcery have you planned for that, husband?" Dagonet smiled, his eyes playful.

"No sorcery. When you are past your prime, I will simply marry a younger woman." Iona's mouth dropped, a disbelieving squeak escaping her throat as she stared at Dagonet's rakish grin. Her lips curved into a smile and she laughed, head thrown back, her melancholy thoughts flown far away. She sighed again, this time to try and catch her breath, and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. Her voice was light.

"And is this before or after I get Gawain to hit you with his axe?" Dagonet smiled again and pulled her close, placing a soft kiss on the sensitive skin below her ear, his low voice sending shivers down her spine.

"I'm not worried. My axe is bigger than Gawain's." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Iona's mouth dropped open again.

"Dagonet! What has gotten into you?" He smiled cheekily, looking younger than Iona had ever seen him.

"All is as it should be, love. I have you, and as of tonight, I will have my freedom. What do you say to seventeen children?" Iona's head snapped back, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"I think you may need that younger wife after all," she squeaked, and Dagonet's low chuckle reverberated around them as they entered the inner courtyard of the fort. Jols and his assistants were there immediately to lead the horses away, and the knights stood at attention as the bishop descended from the carriage. Iona ducked her head slightly, hair once again in her face as the Roman surveyed the men briefly, his gaze lingering on her again before following Arthur towards his quarters. A shiver of apprehension slid down her spine, and she used the chaos of the courtyard to take a moment and try to pinpoint exactly why the man made her uneasy. She felt someone's presence behind her a split second before Tristan's voice was low in her ear.

"You hide your face." She nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I don't need him paying any more attention to me than he already is... and something tells me he would if he saw." Tristan grunted low in his throat.

"Instead you create a mystery he wants to solve." Iona's spine stiffened. _Fool._ She turned and looked at Tristan, brows raised and eyes unsure. The dark eyes looking back at her were calm.

"You want me to kill him in his sleep?" Iona pursed her lips to mask her smile.

"Unnecessary. But I appreciate the thought." For a split second Tristan looked disappointed, but nodded slightly before moving away. Iona heard Dagonet calling from behind her, and turned to grasp his waiting hand and walk with him up to their quarters.


	22. Chapter 22

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: Iona makes a few realizations.

* * *

Iona stood at the chamber window, lost in thought as she gazed down into the courtyard. Dagonet had gone to arrange for bath water, leaving his wife to her scattered thoughts. The bishop certainly weighed on her mind, but there was something else, something... something so obvious it was staring her right in the face, so glaringly close that she could not make out the features of it.

Turning away from the window, Iona began to unbuckle her armour, laying it on the trunk at the foot of the bed. When she was finished, she returned to the window and again stared sightlessly down. _Dagonet and his freedom... leaving the fort... younger wives... seventeen children..._ She smiled and waved, one of Bors and Vanora's brood from the courtyard catching her eye and giving her a cheeky grin.

_We'll have a ways to go, to catch up with those two._ Iona smiled again as she thought of the blustery knight and his flame haired lover. _Of course, we could be lucky just to have one._

Iona's hand, absently playing with the thick drape, slowly stilled as a single, horrifying thought started to dawn.

_Lucky just to have one..._

_Lucky..._

Her hand dropped from the drape to her hip, to the beginning of the ugly scar that ran across her midsection.

_Not that an injury matters, of course... Dagonet and I were sleeping together for months before that. And never once did I... never once did..._

"Oh God."

Iona's mouth was suddenly full of cotton as she sunk to the window seat, her heart beating loudly in her ears.

_And of course there was no thought of birth control. If we haven't by now, then it must mean we..._

A subtle shifting in the doorway alerted Iona to someone's presence, and as she waited for them to speak, she tried to school her face into its normal impassive features before she turned. _God, please let me be wrong._

After a quiet moment, her brow furrowed. _A maid or Dagonet would have walked completely into the room, and anyone else would have immediately started talking._

Her heart, already in her boots, sank even lower as she turned to see Bishop Germanius standing in the doorway, his smile and manner as oily as before.

"I do hope I am not intruding." Iona inclined her head slightly without replying, looking at him through her shaggy fringe of hair. The bishop stepped further into the room, his eyes predatory and his accented voice smooth.

"I wished to thank you personally for your actions today. Rome is glorified through your allegiance, brave sir knight."

Understanding dawned instantly, and Iona recoiled slightly, trying to keep the disgust from showing on her face. _What a... perverted creep!_ The entirely English phrase sprang to mind as she cleared her throat, pitching her voice slightly lower than usual.

"No gratitude necessary, Bishop. I was performing my duty." The bishop smiled greasily and moved a few steps closer, which made Iona wish that he wasn't between her and her weapons.

"And you will soon be rewarded for performing that duty, young knight. Tell me, are you planning to travel to Rome when your term of service is over? I would be honoured if you would be my guest so that I could give you my thanks... more appropriately." The look in his hooded eyes made Iona's skin crawl, and it was all she could do to keep from trying to scale the walls to keep away from him. Her voice almost shook with the effort of keeping it level.

"And where would Sir Dagonet be during this visit, Bishop?" A split second of confusion crossed the man's face before he shrugged dismissively.

"Oh yes, that brute. You will have no need of him anymore, I am certain. You have been his since childhood, I assume? Any pederastic arrangement can surely be broken in favour of a more... advantageous one." Iona grimaced, ducking her head to hide the expression behind her hair. There was a steel edge in her voice that she didn't try to disguise.

"You think I am his catamite?" The bishop shrugged, uncaring, his voice indifferent.

"You are not?" Iona stood, in one smooth motion squaring her shoulders and tossing her hair out of her face. Her voice was a lash between them.

"I am his _wife_."

Had Iona been any less angry, the bishop's reaction might have been almost comical. As it was, she only clenched her fists as he took a step back, shock and then disgust written across his face. She took a step forward, her voice forceful.

"You observed my relationship with my husband, and saw what you wanted to see - that I was a young man instead of a woman. You then assumed that your... _advances_... would be welcomed, and admitted yourself into my private quarters to force them upon me. How many unsuspecting young boys have you forced yourself on, Germanius?" The bishop began to sputter.

"You... are an affront to God and to the empire of Rome!" Iona tilted her head slightly.

"That is interesting. A few minutes ago Rome was glorified through my allegiance. And I do not think that I am the one who is an affront to God." The bishop paused, his anger choking him as his face turned an unhealthy shade of red.

"You... you _witch_! You are an abomination! An unholy creature of deceit! The Holy Father shall hear of your treachery!" Iona shook her head, taking a step towards him.

"I am married to a Sarmatian man, in whose culture women are prized as warriors." She laughed wryly. "I married pagan, and am following pagan traditions. While _you_, Bishop Germanius - you are a Christian man, a leader in the Christian church, following pagan traditions. Who do you think the Holy Father would frown upon more?" Bishop Germanius' lip curled back into a snarl, and he took a slight step back as Iona took another forward.

"I will see you punished! I will have you flogged on the ramparts so all can see your wilful disobedience to the laws of God!" Iona sprang forward, her face inches from his, her eyes fierce.

"A knight and wife of a knight? A knight under the command of Artorius Lucius Castus? A knight that Castus himself conscripted?" Her teeth bared in a savage smile.

"I would like to see you try." The bishop sputtered, his face purple, his eyes bulging. Down the hall, Iona could hear the heavy steps of someone approaching. Bishop Germanius paused, hearing the sound as well, then grimaced, pulled his ornate robes around him and walked to the doorway, his eyes never leaving Iona's face and his features full of hate. Iona stared him down without blinking, watching him slink away until he was out of sight and his hurried footsteps were retreating down the hall.

Once he had gone, Iona heaved a huge sigh of relief and looked towards the chair in front of the fireplace, her legs suddenly unsteady. She took one trembling step towards the chair and immediately felt someone grasp her arm, holding her up and helping her towards the seat.

"Tristan." The scout looked at her, his dark eyes knowing. She sunk into the chair with another sigh, looking helplessly up at him.

"How much did you hear?" The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

"All. Shall I kill him now?" Iona laughed helplessly as he crouched beside her, his impassive face and guarded eyes betraying... concern... that was gone almost before she could identify it. Anything he was about to say was lost as Dagonet entered the room, taking in the scene at a glance and immediately striding towards Iona and crouching beside her. Tristan rose and took a step back as Dagonet took Iona's hands in his own.

"Iona? Is everything all right?" Iona laughed breathlessly again, not even knowing where to begin, so Tristan spoke from his new position at the window.

"The bishop. Thought she was a boy, and wanted to make her his." Dagonet immediately looked to Iona, anger in his blue eyes.

"Did he touch you?" She shook her head, smiling in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.

"It is fine, Dagonet. He will not bother me again." Dagonet glared in the general direction of the door.

"He had better not. You are mine." Iona laughed again, this time full throated and full of life.

"Yes, yours. Your _woman_, which would be the deterrent. And you are just as much mine as I am yours, husband." Dagonet smiled, leaning forward to claim her lips in a soft kiss. Iona sighed and leaned into him, thrilling in how safe he made her feel.

A throat cleared, and Dagonet leaned back to cock an eyebrow in Tristan's direction.

"Yes, Tristan?" The scout folded his arms across his chest.

"What happened during battle, Iona?" Dagonet's eyes swung back to Iona's face, the question again on his lips as they both remembered her near-miss. She shook her head, the face of the Woad-as-a-Saxon again appearing in her mind.

"Everything... everything was going fine until... I thought I saw a Saxon. It was a Woad, but he looked... he changed. It looked like it was a Saxon, and I didn't... I didn't know..." she sighed again, not knowing if she was explaining it properly. Dagonet and Tristan both looked at her steadily, waiting.

"It was just my mind playing tricks on me, but I wasn't expecting it. It just surprised me, really." She finished lamely, ducking her head and staring down into her lap. Dagonet squeezed her hands gently, and Tristan cleared his throat.

"Not surprised." With a soft look in Iona's direction and a pointed glare in Dagonet's, Tristan stalked out of the room on silent feet, closing the door behind him and leaving the couple together. As soon as he was gone, Dagonet stood, gathered Iona up and sat on the chair with her in his lap. She immediately snuggled into the strong circle of his arms, tucking her head onto his shoulder. Dagonet's voice was a rumble in his chest.

"I am not surprised either, Iona. Your first battle since... since the Saxons. You were bound to have some flashbacks." Iona sighed, her pulse speeding up slightly, feeling very much like a child who was about to be punished.

"You're not... you're not going to try and forbid me from fighting again, are you?" Dagonet shook his head, and she could feel his smile where his cheek was resting against her head.

"I know better, now. Besides. The best way to get over it is to fight through it." She nodded, closing her eyes and breathing in the scent of his skin, her mind suddenly returning to the thought she had before Germanius had entered. Her heart back down in her boots, she slowly sat up and turned to face Dagonet, holding his face in her hands. His eyes searched hers, worried again, and she cleared her throat. Her voice was soft, heart broken.

"I need to tell you something."


	23. Chapter 23

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: Dagonet feels the need for a pep talk.

* * *

When Dagonet and Iona finally joined the rest of the knights at the round table, it was with heavy hearts. Iona had explained her discovery and had waited, in vain, for Dagonet to refute her logic. He was only able to hold her as she cried, his own heart breaking for the joy they would never know.

The only thing that had brought them down from their room was the knowledge that Dagonet's discharge papers were waiting, the promise of freedom and a life where they could pick up the pieces away from Rome's tyranny. So they bathed, dressed, and descended, hand in hand, to where their brothers were waiting.

As they walked through the halls of the fort, Iona could feel tension settling on her shoulders as they drew closer to seeing the bishop. Dagonet stole a glance at her and, noting the pinched and fearful look on her face, drew her aside into an alcove. Iona looked up at him, her brown eyes huge in her worried face, and Dagonet's heart broke a little more. His voice was low, soft.

"This has not been the best of days." Iona half sighed, half laughed, and sadly shook her head. Dagonet combed the hair out of her eyes, his fingers lingering on the smooth skin of her cheek.

"Who are you, my love?" Iona's brow furrowed, but she licked her lips and replied.

"I am Iona Andromeda Demetronopolos." Dagonet nodded.

"And what are you, love?" This time Iona's voice was stronger, her answer more readily spoken.

"I am a knight in the cavalry of Artorius Castus." Dagonet smiled down at her.

"And?" She smiled back up at him, her shoulders squaring slightly.

"And I am the wife of a Sarmatian knight. Your wife." Dagonet nodded.

"And who is on your side?" Iona's back straightened, her chin lifting.

"I fight with Arthur Castus, a Roman commander, and six of his Sarmatian knights, the finest warriors this empire has ever seen." Dagonet nodded again, dropping his head to plant a quick kiss on the tip of her nose.

"Then why, my warrior bride, do you fear?" Iona rocked back on her heels, a wry smile twisting her mouth as she realized the corner he had talked her into. She chuckled softly, leaning forward to wrap her arms around Dagonet's waist, resting her head on his broad chest.

"I fear because I am forgetful, husband." Dagonet nodded, stroking her hair.

"The bishop can do nothing to you that you would not allow - let alone anything that the rest of us would allow. Tristan alone has thought of several reasons to kill him." Iona laughed, and Dagonet rejoiced to see the spark back in her eye. He offered his hand and smiled when she took it in her much smaller one. With one final kiss, they continued down the hall.


	24. Chapter 24

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - I've done what I could to gloss over using the actual dialogue, but if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: The day Iona and Arthur have been waiting for arrives.

* * *

The bustle of the table room was exactly what Dagonet and Iona needed, and they found their spirits lifting as the usual banter swirled around them. There was a slight undercurrent of nervous energy that wasn't usually there, but on the whole the men awaited their discharge papers with the appearance of indifference.

Iona made her way around the room to Arthur, stood shoulder to shoulder with the Roman commander, and surveyed the rest of the knights with him. Arthur smiled.

"Is everything all right, Iona?" She shook her head. _Oh, if only you knew._ Her voice was low.

"The bishop." He frowned and looked down at her, waiting while she chose her words. Finally she twisted her lips in a slight grimace and narrowed her eyes.

"With wine and boys around, monks have no need of the Devil to tempt them." Arthur recoiled slightly, his lips parting in shock.

"Boys?" Iona nodded.

"Which he thought I was. It is one thing to know that such relationships exist, Arthur - it is quite another to be propositioned for one. I don't know how... young... his preferences lie, but I would suggest we keep him away from Galahad. And Bors' family. Especially Gilly."

Arthur nodded, his face set. His reply, however, was lost in the entrance of the bishop's scuttling man servant, whose voice lost some of its grandeur as he noticed the round table.

"Bishop Gnaus... Germanius..." Despite the loss of conviction, the knights stood upon the bishop's entrance, and Iona quickly made her way to her place between Bors and Dagonet.

As Bishop Germanius swept in, he took in the sight of the round table and squared his shoulders slightly, his gaze calculating and his voice condescending as he commented on the distinct lack of knights sitting around the table. Arthur, ever level-headed, answered calmly at the understated criticism and Iona felt a swell of pride at his ability to smooth tense situations. She also noted, in a more foreboding thought, that the bishop seemed well practised at switching his manner, like the master of manipulation she was quickly suspecting he was.

The bishop's attitude quickly morphed to forgiving as he took a goblet of wine from the page, and motioned for the rest of the knights to be served.

"Arthur and his knights have served with courage to maintain the honour of Rome's empire on this last outpost of our glory. Rome is most indebted to you, noble knights. To your final days as servants to the empire." So saying, he raised his goblet in a toast and took a sip of wine. Lancelot, however, noticed his phrasing, his voice weighted and low.

"Day. Not days." Germanius simply waved away his comment and motioned for them to sit, he himself taking as much of a place of honour as he could, with Arthur at his right hand. His gaze moved around the table to rest on each one of them - but slid quickly past Iona. He dropped his voice low, speaking only to Arthur - but from the scattered words they could hear, the knights knew he was asking about their beliefs. Arthur shook his head, his smile towards his men reassuring, and his voice pitched so that all could hear.

"They retain the religion of their forefathers. I have never questioned that." The bishop's mouth set in a thin line, his voice flat.

"Of course, of course." He risked a disapproving look at Iona. "They are pagans, hmmm?" The men, uncomfortable with the insinuation that this somehow made them inferior, shifted in their seats. Only Bors and Iona smiled, wolfishly, and without shame. Germanius looked back to Arthur, again purposely dropping his voice to keep the conversation private - making Iona's lip curl in a slight snarl as she cast a sidelong glance at Dagonet. She spoke low, in English.

_"You have been fighting for fifteen years, for so-called honour that he wears like a robe, and he can't even be bothered to talk to you." _Dagonet nodded, his blue eyes hooded as they watched Arthur smile, again speaking so everyone could hear his reply to Germanius' question about Pelagius.

Germanius nodded, his jaw working, obviously displeased at both Arthur's answer and his inability to control the conversation. Changing tactics, his voice took on a proud, louder edge.

"Rome awaits your arrival with great anticipation. You are a hero! In Rome, you will live out your days in honour and wealth." He looked around the circle, his voice dropping as he realized that no one placed the same value on the concept as he did. He sighed and continued speaking, but the men's attention was immediately captured by the ornate box that the servant placed on the table beside the bishop. Germanius saw their captivation and stood, his voice low and almost seductive as he spoke of Rome's withdrawl, and as he slowly opened the lid of the box, the knights all rose in anticipation. Out of the corner of her eye, Iona saw Dagonet wipe his hand on his tunic nervously, compulsively, so she briefly took his hand in hers to squeeze it reassuringly. The bishop's voice was softer.

"What will become of Britain is not our concern anymore. I suppose the Saxons will claim it soon."

Seven pairs of eyes immediately snapped to the bishop, then swung to look at Iona who could feel the blood draining from her face. Arthur's voice was flat, hard.

"Saxons." The bishop nodded, observing the sudden tension in the room.

"In the north, a massive Saxon incursion has begun." Iona looked towards Arthur, her intel from three months before now looming over them. _Rome already knew. They knew. I didn't have to... _She felt Dagonet's hand on her back and leaned into it, her heart racing. From across the table, Lancelot's voice was dangerously low.

"The Saxons only keep what they kill." Gawain glared at the bishop from beneath his lowered brow.

"And they only kill everything." Eyes again swung to Iona, and Dagonet's voice was a rumble in his chest.

"Not everything." Iona took a deep breath. _You don't fight alone. You don't fight alone._ Galahad, his young face angry, struggled to keep his voice level as he glared at the bishop.

"So you would just leave the land to the Woads? I risked my life for nothing?" Germanius looked at him with an unreadable gaze, then turned the open box around with a flourish so the men could see the neatly rolled scrolls stored within.

"Gentlemen, your discharge papers with safe conduct throughout the Roman Empire. But first, I must have a word with your commander... in private..." Arthur smiled slightly, motioning around the table.

"We have no secrets." Germanius' mouth turned up into slight snarl as he slammed the lid of the box shut, and for a moment the air was charged with a dangerous, murderous energy. Finally Lancelot, his voice mocking, broke the tension.

"Come. Let us leave Roman business... to Romans." He drained his goblet of wine, and with a pointed look at Arthur, strode out the door. One by one the other knights followed suit, Dagonet gently guiding Iona with a hand at her back before clapping a hand on Bors' shoulder.

"Let it go, Bors." Bors scoffed, but followed the couple out. As the doors closed behind them, Iona couldn't help but feel that something was about to go wrong.


	25. Chapter 25

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - I've done what I could to gloss over using the actual dialogue, but if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: It's not all bad.

* * *

Like that first night years before, Dagonet and Iona wandered around the fort, hand in hand. Too melancholy still about the events of the day to join the rest in the tavern, they opted to roam, silently, through the darkness. Eventually finding themselves at the top of the wall, Dagonet leaned against the parapet with Iona nestled against him, both gazing out onto the plain just north of the fort.

_This hasn't been the best of days._ Dagonet's words from earlier echoed in Iona's mind and she sighed a quiet laugh. With her head tucked under Dagonet's chin, she could feel him look down at her and press a kiss into her hair, so she spoke softly.

"Seeing Saxons... a perverted bishop... discovering I'm barren... that's more bad news than some people get in their entire lives. We got it all in one day." Dagonet nodded, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"It is, however, our last bad day." Iona smiled, but she could not quite bring herself to agree. Dagonet rubbed slow circles into her back, his voice gentle.

"Besides, love. We don't know that you're barren. It takes two to make a baby, and it could be me." Iona tipped her head back in shock to look up at him, watching his eyes glint in the torchlight. Her mouth opened and closed for a moment like a fish before she managed to produce any noise.

"How... what a..." _What a thoroughly modern thing to say._ Finally she just smiled and stretched to press a kiss to his lips.

"You'll never stop surprising me, will you?" Dagonet smiled and kissed her again.

"Not if you don't." Lost in the love he saw in her eyes, Dagonet wrapped one arm around Iona, holding the back of her head with his other hand and claiming her mouth with a passionate kiss. Iona moaned and pressed against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and drinking in his kiss like she was dying of thirst.

They broke apart for air, breathing rapidly, their foreheads pressed together. Dagonet's voice was hoarse.

"Stable?" Iona nodded.

"Stable." She turned towards the stairs, her hand immediately flying to her heart and a startled squawk flying from her mouth.

"Tristan!" As usual, the silent scout was standing with an inscrutable expression on his face. Dagonet groaned.

"Must you always do that?" One dark eyebrow rose.

"Must you?" Dagonet just grinned, unashamed, while Iona sighed in exasperation, crossed her arms, and leaned back against Dagonet's chest. Tristan just shrugged.

"My mother didn't bear her children until she put down her sword. After she stopped thinking she could." Without another word he turned and descended as silently as he had appeared, leaving Iona with a shocked expression and Dagonet with a bemused smile.

He chuckled softly, shook his head, then bent to press his lips against Iona's neck, hands roaming over her body, ever mindful to keep his touch gentle. Iona moaned, her head tipping back onto Dagonet's shoulder. Her voice was breathless.

"Do you... think he might... be right?" She could feel Dagonet's groan vibrate against her back as he looped an arm around her to pull her hips more securely against his, while his tongue did... something... to her earlobe. His voice was a growl.

"He usually is." Iona reached to grasp the back of his neck, guiding his mouth to hers for a hungry kiss while she slowly turned to press herself against him. Dagonet groaned against her mouth and reached down to slid his hands down her thighs, lifting her and hitching her legs around his waist. His voice was breathless.

"Stable?" Iona nodded, gasping.

"Stable."


	26. Chapter 26

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - I've done what I could to gloss over using the actual dialogue, but if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: Things never do go smooth.

* * *

The tavern that night was the same as every other night of carousing over the last fifteen years. Lancelot, gambling with the Romans and flirting with the serving girls. Galahad and Gawain, having a knife throwing competition. Bors, with a baby slung over one arm and a mug of ale in the other hand. Even Tristan was there, alternating between eating apples and astounding Gawain and Galahad with his knife skills. Iona and Dagonet stood in the doorway and took in the scene with almost imperceptible smiles on their faces before Dagonet smacked Iona on the backside and strode towards the bar for a drink. Iona rolled her eyes and shook her head, then spoke briefly to one of the serving girls before following him.

She reached the bar just in time for Bors to hustle Vanora out into the middle of the courtyard, cajoling her, as usual, into singing for them. Amid shouts of approval, a request from Galahad, and an admonition from Gawain to not drop the baby, she shot Iona an exasperated smile, took a breath, and started to sing.

A hush settled over the tavern as she sang, a thrall of nostalgia, longing, and fierce, bright hope. From her place nestled against Dagonet's side, Iona watched the expressions on the knight's faces as Vanora sang of long-awaited Sarmatia. There was joy, certainly, but also uncertainty and sorrow. Tilting her head, Iona was not completely surprised to see tears glistening in Dagonet's eyes - and as Vanora's voice washed over them, Iona tightened her arms around her husband's waist and laid her head on his chest, hearing his heart beat in time with the song.

And then, with Jols' call, the spell was broken. Pulling themselves from their reveries, the knights slowly clustered around their commander, joking and laughing as if they hadn't a care in the world. Iona saw the grim line of Arthur's mouth, however, and knew.

Speaking as if the very words pained him, Arthur told them of the Roman family north of the wall, told them of their mission, told them of the bishop's order. And watched as his knights faces went from happy and contented to angry and betrayed.

Bors, furious, struggled to keep his voice controlled as he stared at Arthur, his eyes suspiciously wet.

"Every knight here has laid their life on the line for you. For _you_. And instead of freedom, you want more blood? Our blood? You think more of Roman blood than you do of ours?" Arthur's jaw worked as he slowly replied, the words as distasteful to him as they were to everyone else. Bors, however, was having none of it, and slashed through the air with his hand, his voice rising to a shout.

"I am a free man! I will choose my own fate!" In the background, the baby began to cry - and Tristan nonchalantly sliced a piece of apple with his knife, his voice as expressionless as ever.

"Yeah, yeah. We're all going to die someday. If it's death by a Saxon hand that frightens you, stay home." His gaze slid over each of them, challenging - and then landed on Iona. Eyes softened, and Iona knew he didn't mean it in the same way to her, but she squared her shoulders anyway. Galahad, in typical Galahad fashion, was letting his youth get the best of him, and she gritted her teeth.

"Enough!" Her voice was a lash through the air. She turned to look at each of them, her brothers, her friends, and let them grasp onto her calm gaze like a lifeline. Her voice was softer.

"Yes, Galahad, you have something to live for. We all do. And that doesn't change until we get that piece of parchment. Our duty to Rome ends with that scroll. What is one more mission? In fifteen years, what is one mission?" They looked at her, at each other, at the ground, at the air - anywhere to try and find a valid argument, a valid reason... but instead just lost a bit of their fury.

Dagonet's voice rumbled from his usual place behind Iona.

"The Romans have broken their word. We have the word of Arthur. That is good enough. I'll prepare." He smoothed his hands over Iona's shoulders and looked down at her briefly, an unspoken agreement flashing between them. He turned and began striding towards the stables, calling over his shoulder for Bors as he went. Bors wiped the unbidden tears away with a burly forearm and started after Dagonet, his loud voice still full of anger and hurt.

"'Course I'm comin'! Can't let you go on your own, you'll all get killed!" He stalked away, Tristan following on silent feet. Bors' voice echoed through the yard as he left.

"I'm just saying what you're all thinkin'!" Arthur looked to Gawain, who nodded.

"I'm with you." His eyes slid to his young cousin. "Galahad as well." The young knight scoffed, then half-sobbed, half-laughed before pouring out the last of his wine, smashing the pitcher on the ground, and stumbling angrily away. Arthur's voice was soft as he looked at Iona.

"And you, Ai? You have more choice than any of us." For a long moment Iona didn't say anything, just stared unseeing at Arthur's armour. Finally she sighed and met the Roman commander's eyes.

"I've been saying it for years, Artorius. Someone needs to look after you lot." She smiled sadly, then turned to join the rest, leaving Arthur and Lancelot alone in the yard.


	27. Chapter 27

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - I've done what I could to gloss over using the actual dialogue, but if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: Miserable company is still company.

* * *

_It's an unsettling thought,_ Iona mused the next night, _that Merlin wants us alive._ She tucked her cape more securely around herself to try and evade some of the ever-present rain, leaning closer to the fire that wasn't really doing anything to dispel the slight chill. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend? The Saxons would be the only reason he'd call his men back. _She sighed and tried to blow her bangs out of her eyes, but instead resorted to plastering them aside with her equally wet hand. Dagonet sat down next to her, wrapping his thicker cape around the both of them, and Iona leaned into his warmth gratefully.

From across the fire, Gawain's complaints of the weather seemed almost like whining, and Iona chuckled at the image of Gawain-as-petulant-child. Bors, unperturbed, looked up into the drizzle, his voice oddly satisfied.

"The rain is good. Washes all the blood away." Dagonet's voice was low.

"Doesn't help the smell." Iona shrugged.

"Well, maybe if you bathed more often, husband..." she yelped as he pinched her side, then made a show of trying to get away while he pretended to smother her. Lancelot rolled his eyes at them, then looked to Bors.

"Hey Bors, do you intend to take Vanora and all your little bastards back home?" The burly man shrugged, screwing his face up into a grimace.

"Oh, I'm trying to avoid that decision. By getting killed." Amid the laughter that swirled around the fire, he looked to Dagonet seriously and with a little panic in his gaze.

"Dagonet - she wants to get married and give the children names." Dagonet just smiled and said nothing, letting Lancelot continue his baiting and teasing of Bors. With the rest of the knights occupied in the discussion of names versus numbers, Gawain collapsed beside Iona with a loud sigh.

"And when are you two going to start numbering your own children?" A flash of pain crossed Iona's face, and Dagonet cleared his throat, staring into the flames.

"Children are born easier when their parents are free." Gawain frowned, caught by Dagonet's statement - and then noticed the expression on their faces. Understanding wasn't long in coming, and he immediately sat straighter, an apology instantly on his lips. Iona waved it away with a small smile.

"You didn't know, Gawain. It's something we've only just realized ourselves." The lion-hared man joined them in staring into the fire for a few minutes before speaking slowly, hesitantly.

"If you don't... not saying that you won't, but... my parents took my sister in, when she was abandoned as a baby." Once again Iona was caught by surprise, and she looked at Gawain's earnest expression for a long moment before smiling and nodding slowly, turning to see the same light in Dagonet's eyes. Her husband nodded as well.

"Thank you, Gawain." Slightly embarrassed, the younger knight shrugged.

"'Course, you could always take half of Bors'." The three looked over at the man in question, who was raising his voice about Three's fighting prowess, which was once again shot down by Lancelot. As Bors admitted defeat and stalked away, laughter echoed around the fire - and for a little while the rain seemed a little less dismal.


	28. Chapter 28

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - I've done what I could to gloss over using the actual dialogue, but if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: Iona and Dagonet find what they're looking for

* * *

By the time they galloped down the long lane leading to Marius Honorius' villa the next day, a grey pall had settled over the land. Clouds blocked the sun, heavy with snow, and a biting wind was steadily picking up speed. Arthur announced their presence at the gate and they waited, watching with raised eyebrows as a crowd of peasants gathered around them warily. Iona and Dagonet exchanged sidelong glances as they took in the condition of the people, the tattered clothes and skinny limbs, and Iona felt something unsettling fall over her shoulders. _Something's not quite right here._

Honorius appeared, a small bustling man with an air of authority, entitlement, and condescension - and, like the bishop, Iona disliked him immediately. His wife was a mouse of a woman, but his son... Alecto was hard to read. _There may be hope for him yet. Maybe his mother isn't as much of a doormat as she appears to be._ She watched, eyes narrowing as Honorius and his guards bullied the peasants away and she knew, just knew, that Arthur wasn't going to let this go as planned.

And she was right. The knights stifled a collective groan as Arthur strode off, Excalibur in hand, towards an old man, skinny and beaten and shackled by his wrists to a wooden frame.

Arthur, resplendent and towering in his righteous indignation, demanded an explaination from the stammering villager beside him. Iona was too far away to hear what was being said, but she knew Arthur well enough to not be surprised when he broke the man free and began giving orders. Once finished, he strode back to the knights with fire in his green eyes, stopping only to speak briefly with Tristan who had just returned from a brief scouting run.

Then, from over the treetops, ominous and chilling, came the sound of Saxon war drums.

A horrifying hush settled over the property as everyone - guards, servants, knights and peasants - stopped what they were doing to listen, hearts pounding in the same rhythm and mouths suddenly dry. It was only a split second of stillness before activity resumed, but that was all it took for Arthur to notice a pair of men walling up the doorway of a small hut.

Suspicious once more, Arthur again drew Excalibur and dismounted, the knights following on horseback as he roughly questioned the men. The feeling of foreboding on Iona's shoulders grew heavier as she saw the panicked look in Honorius' eye. _What is he hiding in there?_

Despite the pleas and warnings from Lancelot and Galahad, Arthur remained resolute, turning instead to Dagonet who immediately dismounted and set about demolishing the stone barrier with his axe. Faced with a wooden door behind, Arthur again gave the order and Dagonet reduced it to a pile of kindling within a matter of seconds.

From her position on Ardin's back next to the hut, Iona could see the outline of shackles hanging inside and felt her skin crawl. But the smell was what caught her attention - wafting out of the small hut and settling around her. Her mouth set in a thin line, she looked as Dagonet came to stand beside her.

"It smells like that tent." Her husband nodded, gritting his teeth and stopping only long enough to squeeze her leg reassuringly before ducking into the hut with Arthur, Lancelot, and Gawain.

For a long moment they waited - Iona, Tristan, Bors and Galahad - their horses hopping anxiously beneath them as they simultaneously watched the crowd and waited for the others to reappear. Galahad cleared his throat nervously.

"What do you think is down there?" Tristan shot a look at Iona, who clenched her jaw, her mind filled with the image of flickering torchlight and filthy furs. Her voice was low.

"Nightmares." An uneasy silence descended over them, broken only by the relentless pounding of Saxon drums. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Lancelot appeared and doused his torch in the snow, a sick look on his face. Arthur quickly followed, shouting for water, a young woman clasped in his arms.

And then, Dagonet - and Iona's heart instantly broke, both for the look on his face and for the mop of blonde curls he carried with him. She immediately slid from Ardin's back and crouched beside her husband, her waterskin in her hand. It was a boy, probably only five or six years old, with a sad, scared face. He gulped water greedily as Iona did a quick survey.

"His arm is broken." Dagonet nodded, his jaw working. Iona's voice was a sigh.

"And his family?" He shook his head again, then looked up at her with fierce blue eyes.

"Iona..." A beat, and Iona understood. For a long moment they stared at each other, and then Iona nodded, slowly, her heart already wrapped up in the child, knowing she, they, could do nothing else. She moved so the boy was resting against her knee and gently smoothed her hand through his curls, her voice soft.

"What is your name, child?" The boy looked up at her with fever bright eyes and stared for a long moment, his eyes tracing her face. Finally he spoke, his voice just a cracked whisper.

"Lucan." Iona nodded, smoothing her cool fingers over his flushed skin. She looked up at Dagonet, her heart in her eyes, seeing tears glisten in his as well.

_Lucan._


	29. Chapter 29

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - I've done what I could to gloss over using the actual dialogue, but if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: Waiting for trouble is worse than the trouble itself

* * *

_How quickly everything can change_, Iona thought an hour later. _With one look at a pair of scared eyes and a mop of curls, life is completely different._

She and Ardin were walking quite close to the wagon designated for the two pulled from the dungeon, close enough that Iona could see Dagonet's hulking form inside, close enough that she could see Lucan's bright eyes fixed on her. She smiled gently at him, and watched as he fell into a restless, feverish sleep, broken by soft moans of pain.

Upon leaving Marius Honorius' villa with the nobleman, his family, and the peasant villagers, Iona had joined Dagonet in the wagon to help set Lucan's broken arm. Their soft words and quiet tones had soothed the boy, and after they wiped the tears of pain from his cheeks, he watched the two of them as if he could hardly believe his good fortune. Now Iona rode beside the wagon, close enough that Lucan, who had become agitated and worried when she moved to leave, could still see her. She could also see the quiet mouse of a Roman woman, Fulicina, totally absorbed in watching Dagonet, and she shook her head with a quiet snort. _Doormats aren't his type, mousewife._ In the far opposite corner of the wagon, Iona could also see the young Woad woman, and her eyebrows knit together thoughtfully.

_Guinevere. Of course she is. Of course she would be._ She shook her head slightly and sighed, already noting how both Arthur and Lancelot were prowling around the wagon more than was strictly necessary.

_And here we go. The future queen of Britain, a new addition to my husband's fan club, and more enemies than we can shake a stick at. Why can't things ever go smooth?_

Iona's musings were cut short by Arthur swinging into the moving wagon, and so she directed Ardin towards the front of the caravan. The rest of the knights were also patrolling up and down the straggling line, making sure everyone was keeping up and that there was no sign of trouble. Tristan was off in the woods somewhere, she knew, patrolling for Saxons. We may have enough trouble here with us, Iona thought darkly as she caught a glimpse of Marius sitting imperiously in a wagon surrounded by his personal guards. He glowered at her as she rode past, and she simply stared at him with a deadpan expression. His face twisted into a grimace, and as he leaned forward to speak to his captain, Iona rolled her eyes and urged Ardin forward.

_Romans_.


	30. Chapter 30

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - I've done what I could to gloss over using the actual dialogue, but if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: The first tentative steps towards being a family

* * *

In the gathering twilight, Iona was joined by Dagonet who stretched and twisted in the saddle, loosening up the tight muscles in his back from sitting hunched in the wagon.

"Lucan?" He smiled slightly, grabbing her hand to press a kiss to her fingers.

"Sleeping. Lady Fulicina will send for us if he wakes." Iona smirked briefly, then schooled her face into a blank expression.

"Ah yes, the Lady Fulicina. She seems quite eager to be of assistance to you." Dagonet's eyebrows lowered at her tone as he looked at her, and then smoothed as he saw the teasing gleam in her eye. His voice was nonchalant.

"Yes. Almost makes me wish that I had a proper Roman wife who was well trained, instead of the heathen warrior woman I'm stuck with." Iona's teeth gleamed as she grinned.

"Your life would be so much easier, I am sure." Dagonet chuckled, and then leaned toward her to kiss her quickly.

"Easier, maybe. But also much more boring." They smiled at each other, and then waited as Arthur and the rest of the knights joined them. Arthur briefly gave orders for setting up camp, and then again they were off, moving swiftly and efficiently to settle their caravan of charges for the night.

Ardin and Agravain were unsaddled and brushed, and then led away to their rest by Jols. Claiming the small bit of ground under the wagon, Iona laid out their bedrolls together, as usual, to form a double-sized pallet while Dagonet built a smile fire nearby. Theirs was just for warmth, as Jols was building a bigger one to cook over now that the horses were cared for.

Lucan ate hungrily. A hastily cobbled-together stew and some bread, but the boy wolfed it down like he hadn't eaten properly in weeks - _which is likely_, Iona thought darkly. When he was finished he sat back with a sigh, rewarding Iona with a small smile.

"Feeling better?" He nodded, and then snuggled ever-so-slightly into her side. She brushed the curls out of his eyes and they watched the fire together until Dagonet returned from roaming the camp. He sat down on the other side of Lucan, accepting his own bowl of stew and hunk of bread from Iona's hand. His voice was soft.

"We're spread out among the villagers, around the perimeter. Watches will go around the circle, you and I first. Marius and his family, and his guards, are just opposite us, closer to the middle." Iona nodded. She had seen the fat Roman imperiously ordering the set up of his own little camp, Alecto looking on with his usual inscrutable expression. Thanks to the fire the guards had built, she could see Marius now, deep in animated conversation with his thugs. She sighed, and felt Lucan snuggle closer.

"Is Arthur expected trouble?" Dagonet chuckled wryly.

"Arthur always expects trouble. Especially after he threatened Marius. I don't think Marius will let that pass." Iona nodded, and then gently began to extract herself from Lucan. The boy immediately became alert again, a small cry of protest tugging at Iona's heart. She smiled gently at his worried eyes.

"I am just going to stand watch, Lucan. Dagonet will be here with you until I come back, and then when he returns, we three will be together." Lucan huffed his displeasure, and Iona smiled, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

"I will be watching. Even if you cannot see me, I will still be close to you." Lucan finally nodded, giving Iona another small smile. She smiled in return and buffed her knuckles gently against his cheek. Giving Dagonet a swift kiss, she grabbed her sword, stood silently, and was gone.


	31. Chapter 31

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - I've done what I could to gloss over using the actual dialogue, but if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: Trouble starts

* * *

In the chilly pre-dawn quiet, Iona slept peacefully with her little family. She had stayed awake until Dagonet's return, and together they had laid down on either side of Lucan. The couple had spoke together softly, both sets of eyes fixed on the tired little face with its mop of curls. Lucan slept deeply, safe and surrounded and content. Eventually Dagonet and Iona joined him, slipping quietly into slumber for the last few hours of the night, Dagonet's arm over both his wife and the boy.

Dawn was just beginning to break as rough hands grabbed rudely, harsh and grasping as they hauled Iona up and away. Instantly fighting, she punched and kicked until a blow to the side of her head made stars dance in front of her eyes, and dazed her long enough for her assailants to drop her to her knees, a man on each side of her with a death grip on her arm. One had a fistful of her hair, forcing her head back painfully so that she had no choice but to watch what was going on.

What she saw made her blood boil. Dagonet, equally beset and fending off his attackers with the knife from his boot, and Marius, grinning triumphantly, with a blade to Lucan's throat.

Iona shouted in anger, earning herself another punch to the head and an answering roar from Dagonet. Marius' voice was gloating as he looked from Dagonet to Iona, ordering his guards to finish them off. Fulicina rushed to him, trying to pry his arm away from Lucan, but he pushed her aside as if swatting a pesky fly.

Then, quiet. For a surprised second Marius looked down in shock at the arrow that had grown out of his chest, and then everything was chaos. The grip on Iona's hair loosened just enough for her to break free, so she laid out one attacker with a wicked right hook, and broke the nose of the second with a well-placed boot. Lucan ran to Dagonet as Marius fell, so Dagonet pushed him towards Iona, drawing his sword and standing between them and the remaining guards. Iona, in turn, pressed Lucan down onto their makeshift bed, standing over him with a feral gleam in her eye and her own sword in her hands.

It was a dangerous stalemate for a split second until suddenly knights were everywhere. Bors rode up yelling, while Lancelot and their commander strode to either side of Guinevere, a second arrow notched on her bow. The Roman guards' surrender was a foregone conclusion, and they threw down their swords sullenly, the threat gone with their master.

Iona's breath left her in a rush and she sheathed her sword quickly, kneeling beside Lucan and checking him for injuries. He grimaced in annoyance and pushed her hands away only to do the same to her, a small determined hand at her chin to turn her head so he could look at where she had been struck. She smiled, and Dagonet chuckled low in his throat as he joined them.

"I am uninjured as well, if anyone is interested." He laughed again as Lucan gave him a cursory once-over before going back to clucking over Iona, who laughed out loud at his dismissive manner. Lucan smiled, ducking his head at his own daring before looking shyly up at Dagonet, who smiled at him fondly, roughing his curls with a gentle hand. His loving eyes met those of his wife, and for one, brief, fierce moment, everything was perfect.


	32. Chapter 32

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - I've done what I could to gloss over using the actual dialogue, but if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: On the ice

* * *

Several hours later they stood at the edge of a frozen lake, and Iona could feel a foreboding knot start in the pit of her stomach. Arthur's voice had a desperate undertone as he questioned Tristan, but the scout's voice was flat, with no options. They had no choice.

As they picked their way gingerly across the ice, spreading out to make as little an impact as possible, their hearts sank as they heard the Saxon drums behind them. What little head start they did have had been eaten up by their need to move slowly with the villagers. Arthur wheeled his horse around to face his knights, his grey-green eyes calm as he looked at them.

"Knights?"

There was nothing for it, and they all knew it. Pressed and harried, they had made it this far with enemies behind and enemies within, and they were tired of running. Down the line, shoulders squared, backs straightened, and brows smoothed as they each came to the same conclusion.

They were knights of Arthur Castus, and they would not run.

Arthur nodded once, decisively, and immediately began giving orders for a defensive line on the opposite shore. The wagons and peasants continued to trundle past, and Iona could see Lucan's worried face looking for them. Dagonet's arm came around her as the boy spotted them, his eyes looking scared even from a distance. All Iona could do was smile reassuringly, wishing that they could just grab him and ride, far and fast and away. Dagonet's voice was soft as he lifted his hand in the air, watching as Lucan returned the wave.

"He'll be fine." All she could do was nod, a lump in her throat as she remembered their happy moment that morning. Dagonet pulled her closer, wrapping both his arms around her and looking down at her with soft eyes. Iona sighed.

"Saxons behind and Lucan in front. I know where I would rather be." Dagonet smiled, briefly, and then bent his head to kiss her.

"I'd rather be with you." Iona smiled, her eyes shining as she looked up at her husband.

"I love you, Dagonet." He kissed her again, warm and loving.

"I'll always love you, Iona Andromeda Demetronopolos." A low call from the line behind them and they turned, making their way to join their brothers. Taking their places, they picked up their bows and notched arrows to strings.

And waited.

It took less time than any of them liked to think about for the ragged mob of Saxons to file opposite them. Spines stiffened again as they realized just how close their enemy had been behind them, and just how desperate the plight of the villagers was. Now, though, they could make a difference. Although there were only nine of them to the rough two hundred across the lake, they were better with action than flight.

Iona found herself taking deep, measured breaths as she looked across the ice at the rough furs and flaxen hair. _These I can fight_, she thought with no sense of panic. _These I can kill. No surprises on a Woad field - these are Saxons, and they will die._ The knights watched as the Saxon leader, a grim-faced princeling with a shaved head, ordered an archer to fire a warning shot. It fell well short, and the knights smirked. Saxon bows were not made for shooting distance over a wind-swept steppe, as the Sarmatian bows were - a fact which Bors and Tristan demonstrated with deadly result.

Iona could feel the familiar pulsing of blood in her ears as the fight approached, the Saxons marching forward across the ice as the knights continued to shoot. Aiming for the edges of the raggedy mob, they were forcing the Saxons together, hoping that the combined weight of numbers would cause the ice to break before they got too close. Wave after wave of arrows they sent across the ice, but it was not enough. The Saxons were too close now, and though the ice was cracking and groaning dangerously, it still refused to break. On Arthur's order, they fell back further, switching their bows for swords, waiting, knowing that they needed some sort of miracle now for the ice to break in time.

Iona suddenly felt Dagonet go still at her side, and she turned to look at him with a question half on her lips. He was already looking at her, with a curious expression on his face - and she knew, just _knew_ that he was about to do something incredibly stupid. Her voice was warning, breathless, desperate.

"Dagonet..." but he was already gone, his axe in his hand as he raced across the ice, straight for the Saxons. Iona couldn't decide if her heart had stopped or was beating triple time as she grabbed her bow again, a scream of fury on her lips as she shot and shot and shot, desperately trying to cover Dagonet as he made it to middle ground and swung, burying his axe deep into the ice.

Again and again he swung, chopping at the thick ice to make enough of a dent that the pressure of the Saxons' weight would take care of the rest. The Saxon leader had gotten over his shock enough to order his own archers to shoot, and Iona's blood froze in her veins as she watched arrows fly towards her husband.

A hit. And another. Two arrows buried themselves in his chest and he fell, and suddenly she was running, running towards him, racing across the breaking ice with Arthur beside her, dodging arrows herself as she ran faster_faster_, trying to reach Dagonet in time. He swung again and again, and the ice cracked beneath them as they ran, ran between arrows and deep fissures, focussed solely on reaching Dagonet.

_Too late._ Finally overcome, Dagonet slumped to his knees and fell into the hole beside him, and Iona knew for sure this time that her heart wasn't beating. Sliding to a stop beside the ragged gash in the ice, she and Arthur both latched onto Dagonet's collar and pulled for all they were worth, oblivious to everything except getting Dagonet out. Slowly, painfully, they pulled him from the clutching water and hauled him back onto the ice. He was still, too still, his face too pale, but they pulled desperately, dragging him inch by inch backwards, the weight of his sodden armour slowing them down.

Iona's breath sobbed in her throat and everything was a blur around her as she pulled. Vaguely she felt an arrow strike her in the calf, and vaguely she registered Bors beside them, but nothing mattered nothing mattered except getting Dagonet to safety. Then others were there, and the going was easier. Together they managed to get Dagonet close enough to the shore that the breaking ice wasn't reaching them, and finally then did she allow herself to look down and register the colour of his face, the two arrows sticking out of his chest, the ice that was already beginning to form on his skin in the frigid air.

Everything was quiet. Her hands were on his face and her eyes were inches from his as his mouth twitched into the smallest of smiles, a smile that she pressed her lips to, wanting desperately to feel its warmth. For one split second she felt his lips press against hers, so cold, but _there_ - and then... nothing.

Iona heard a gut-wrenching wail echo around the canyon, off the rocks and the ice, so full of pain it could pierce your heart and draw your life's blood.

Realized it was her.

Couldn't make it stop.


	33. Chapter 33

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - I've done what I could to gloss over using the actual dialogue, but if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: At the fort

* * *

Frozen.

Frozen and silent. No room for thought, no room for sound, no room for anything

Iona completely shut down, moving on autopilot as she helped place Dagonet... the body... carefully onto Agravain's back, covering him... it... gently with the big black cape that had covered the two of them for countless nights beside countless fires.

Sounds occasionally came in and out of focus, but she was only able to shake her head, mute, unable to answer whatever was being asked of her. Then, mercifully, they stopped asking her, leaving her to her silence, to her numbness.

They rode carefully, slowly, following the path left by the villagers, tracking the shore as Arthur had ordered, until they were south of the wall. Iona stared, sightless, as they came near to the fort, stared at the guards raising the alarm, at the villagers crowding the barrack gates.

She dismounted stiffly, her leg buckling beneath her as she vaguely remembered her wounded calf and the arrow they had pulled out after the battle. Gritting her teeth she forced herself to stand, knowing that she could so easily crumble and never move again.

_No, don't think._

She heard the shouts from the guards as if from a distance, and was buffeted from behind by a small person who wrapped his arms around her and clung for dear life.

_Lucan._

Then everything came into focus as, from across the courtyard, she saw him - the bishop, the snake, the _reason_ - staring at her in all his finery, his wealth, his safety, his Romanness. Gently untwining Lucan's arms from around her waist, she stalked across the yard, her eyes never leaving Germanius' face. Her breath grew shorter with every measured step, her chest constricting with fury and pain and grief, her hands clenching into fists. She had never, not once, fought like a girl, but she could feel how satisfying it would be to scratch, to gouge, to reach for her sword only after he was bleeding and torn, his flesh under her nails.

Close enough now that she could see the panic in his eyes, hear the shouts of the guards around him, but she would kill him, yes she would, for Dagonet, for his freedom, for his life, for their life together. Her hands reached, grasping, clawing, as she screamed at him, accusing him, vilifying him, cursing him in a mix of languages that changed so rapidly there wasn't a full sentence in any of them.

But her hands fell short as he scrambled back, an iron bar around her waist as Bors caught her up against his chest, and then her arms were held tightly, Gawain and Galahad each taking a hand and clasping it in their own, struggling to keep her contained as she screamed and railed and pleaded with them to let her go, please _let her go_.

A strangled sob to Arthur... _Artorius!_ and her commander stood with tears glistening in his eyes. And then Tristan was there, Tristan with his scarred hands holding her face, thumbs at her jawbone, Tristan with his dark eyes, and Iona was drowning and drowning and latched onto his gaze and let him pull her out.

He saw the fight go out of her and nodded, and suddenly her hands were free, free to grab onto his wrists as she stared back and took a breath. Just a breath, just one, then another, and another - and they breathed together until the roar in her ears quieted and Tristan could feel her pulse slow under his fingertips.

With her rage went all her strength, and if Bors hadn't still had a hold on her, Iona would have crumpled to the ground - down into a little ball and stayed there, letting the earth leech the life from her until there was nothing left, _there is nothing left,_

"There is nothing left."

Tristan simply nodded, sliding an arm around Iona to clasp her to him, her head on his shoulder and hand feebly clutching his armour, turning them both to walk slowly towards the keep, away from prying eyes, away from the still form under the cape that would never again hold her or comfort her or love her.


	34. Chapter 34

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - I've done what I could to gloss over using the actual dialogue, but if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: Iona discovers what Sarmatian widows do

* * *

Iona followed Tristan blindly out of the courtyard, grateful for his arm around her to keep her from stumbling. Not aware and not caring where they ended up, she roused only when she saw that he had led her to the room she had shared with Dagonet. Heart pierced at the sight of their bed, she turned to run, but Tristan again stopped her, unbuckling and removing her armour with gentle but business-like hands, placing it on the chest where it would be cleaned by the squires.

From there they walked the few steps to Tristan's room, where he pushed her gently into a chair while he removed his own armour, then again gathered her to himself and walked with her to the infirmary where Dagonet's body was waiting.

With a low moan of pain, Iona looked at her husband's still form, bloodied and wet, skin white and chest still, broken arrow shafts protruding from his well-worn armour. She swayed on her feet, but stayed upright through sheer force of will - why, she didn't know, when all she wanted to do was die as well.

Dagonet's body was gravity, pulling her in with as much ease in death as it ever had in life. With Tristan ever-present beside her, Iona moved forward in a daze, stumbling only slightly, somehow winding up at Dagonet's side without being aware she had even moved across the room. With cold fingers she traced his eyebrows, his nose, his mouth, committing his features to memory for the last time. His still hand she pressed to her lips, willing some sort of feeling into her dead heart, willing the tears to fall, willing herself to do something, anything, other than stand a broken, empty shell with her husband's hand clasped to her.

A movement at the door and she turned slowly, Dagonet's hand pressed to her heart. Two young servant girls peered into the room, wary looks on their faces and bundles of cloth in their hands. Tristan's voice was quiet.

"They're here to prepare his body for burial."

For a long moment Iona stared at them, her mind sluggishly processing what Tristan said.

"No." Her voice cracked, hoarse from screaming at Germanius. The girls looked from her to Tristan and back again, uncertainty written in their faces, their movements. Iona could almost hear their thoughts - _the knight's widow would cause a scene, probably attack them, refuse his burial... she was foreign, after all, and who knows what barbaric customs her people had._ Iona cleared her throat and tried again.

"No - I will do it."

"I'll help." Bors' voice came from the chair in the corner and Iona turned slightly, not knowing until he spoke that he was even there. She watched as he took the burial cloths from the girls and shut the door behind them, then came to stand beside her. For a brief moment she leaned into him, and he smoothed a rough hand over her hair like a father would. Her voice was soft.

"Is this what Sarmatian widows do?" He nodded.

"And then they do what they've always done." Iona's eyes slid shut, not knowing how she could do what she'd always done without Dagonet there to do it with her. She felt Bors move away from her, heard him walk to the other side of the bed, felt his patient gaze. With a broken, shuddering sigh that came from her toes, she nodded slightly, tenderly placing Dagonet's hand back on the bed.

They worked silently, carefully, gently removing Dagonet's armour and clothing, pulling the repulsive arrows from his chest, washing him with lightly scented water, rubbing his cold skin with herbs, binding him tightly with strips of cloth. Every once in a while, Iona felt Bors' tears fall on her hands and she wondered why it was that he could cry when she had no tears in her. The thought fell back into the emptiness that consumed her and she forged on woodenly, concentrating only on what she was doing.

Finally, all that was left was Dagonet's shaved head, with his scars and beloved features. For a long moment Iona stared down at him, her small hands framing his face like that first night in the tavern so long ago. She bent and pressed one last kiss to his cold lips, then nodded to Bors. Slowly, turn by turn, he wound the cloth until there was nothing left to see but the burial shroud.


	35. Chapter 35

Author: Triane

Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else. Even more so now, that we're into movie territory - I've done what I could to gloss over using the actual dialogue, but if you recognize dialogue or action, its because it's. Not. Mine.

Summary: Iona discovers what Sarmatian widows do, part 2

* * *

_There is nothing left_.

Her earlier words to Tristan echoed around her as Iona stood looking down at Dagonet's grave, feeling as cold as the earth that covered her beloved. Sounds tricked in and out; the wind in the trees, the quiet murmuring of the villagers as they made their way back to the fort - but all Iona could focus on was her own tenacious heart that refused to stop beating.

Once she and Bors had finished with the burial preparations, Tristan was again there to lead her back to her room where a bath was waiting behind a screen. He gave her as much privacy as possible, but let her know in no uncertain terms what would happen if she couldn't or wouldn't continue on her own. Acting solely on autopilot, and thankful that someone else was thinking for her, Iona bathed and dressed in clean clothes, ignoring the desire to sink under the water and never come out. When she emerged from behind the screen, her heart sank even further when she saw Lucan waiting for her.

Feeling neglectful and rotten, Iona sighed and started to apologize, but he wrapped his arms around her waist as if he didn't have a care in the world. He was also freshly bathed and dressed in clean clothes, well worn and patched and a little too big for him, and Iona recognized a shirt that she had seen being mended several times.

"Vanora?" Lucan nodded excitedly.

"Gilly's going to teach me how to shoot a slingshot!" Iona sighed again and nodded, smoothing Lucan's mop of curls, feeling overwhelmed now with this small boy that she dearly wanted to keep, but didn't know how without her husband. She had completely forgotten about Lucan after the courtyard and cursed herself for being so negligent, but she could barely gather enough strength to remember to breathe, let alone think about the boy. She vaguely realized that Lucan was tugging at her hand, so she let herself be led to sit on the edge of the bed, where Lucan placed himself in front of her, their eyes almost at the same level. His little face solemn, he held out his hand to her - displaying Dagonet's wedding ring.

Iona's heart broke all over again, and for a long moment she couldn't breathe as she stared at the intricate design, the band that had fit Dagonet's finger so perfectly but was almost bigger than Lucan's palm. Through the roaring in her ears she heard Lucan explain that one of the other children had seen it and was going to take it, but that he had grabbed it instead, before Gawain had seen him and ushered him off to Vanora.

Iona felt herself nodding and tried to thank him, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she unwound a leather cord she had tied around her wrist and strung the ring onto it, tying the cord around Lucan's neck. The boy looked pleased and shyly patted her cheek before throwing his arms around her neck.

Iona hugged his little body close and drew in a few shuddering breaths, running her thumb over the design on her own ring, drawing comfort from the repetitive movement, the feeling of the smooth metal. She didn't know how long they stayed like that, but when she heard Lancelot clearing his throat in the doorway, she looked up to see him holding out Dagonet's cape and she suddenly found that she couldn't move.

_Everything is the killing blow._

She held out her wooden arms and felt Lancelot place the heavy fabric onto them. Folding the cape into her arms she breathed in Dagonet's scent, that woodsy, smoky, wholesome smell that was his and his alone.

_Everything__ hurts._

She felt the bed dip as Lancelot sat beside her, and almost protested when she felt him take the cape away from her again, but subsided when she felt him unfolding it and wrapping it around her shoulders_. _Wrapping his arm around her, he kissed the top of her head, but she felt nothing beyond the weight of Dagonet's cape around her.

* * *

Now she stood looking down at Dagonet's grave, wrapped in his cape, confused at how her heart was still beating when it was so clearly buried with her husband. The funeral service had been mercifully brief, and her brothers had been protective of her, making sure that none of the villagers had disturbed her. She had felt their curious eyes, wondering at this novelty of a knight's widow, but she had ignored them all more from inability to react than actual conscious thought.

Arthur had been the one who had driven Dagonet's sword deep into the ground, and Galahad had silently placed the bishop's ornate box on the grave. Iona knew without asking that it contained Dagonet's discharge papers, and her eyes flickered to the young knight briefly. She wanted to thank him, but the words wouldn't come - but she could see on his face that he understood.

With Bors at her left side and Lucan at her right, the rest of the knights filed past, paying their last respects to both Dagonet and herself. She accepted their hugs and chaste kisses woodenly, silently, not able to think of what she should say.

Finally, it was over. Tristan melted into the background and Lucan ran off with Gilly, and finally she was standing alone beside the grave. Bors was slumped against it on the other side, drinking from a jug that Vanora had brought him. With bleary eyes he offered it to her, and she sank to her knees as she accepted it.

"This is what Sarmatian widows do?" Bors nodded and belched, and Iona took a drink.

* * *

It was after sunset when Gawain came for them, striding up the hill with long steps, his sword buckled around his waist. Bors, by this time, was sullenly and angrily drunk, but Iona had only managed a few mouthfuls of wine before the effort became too much and she lapsed back into inactivity, her arm wrapped around the handle of Dagonet's sword, cheek resting on the crossguard. She looked up at Gawain with dull eyes when he cleared his throat, his face apologetic.

"We are needed at the wall." He held out his hand to Iona, and after a long moment she grasped it, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. She stumbled as she took a step and would have fallen if Gawain had not caught her, which caused Bors to lurch to his feet in concern.

She waved away their helping hands and worried questions, taking a limping step down the hill, wrapping the cape around her arms to keep it from dragging on the ground. Her muscles were stiff and cramped from being in one position all evening, and her calf was aching from the Saxon arrow - but she used the pain to focus and propel herself down the hill and towards the keep, Gawain and Bors following like concerned, ineffective mother hens.

Once in the fort she stiffly climbed the stairs to the wall and peered out to the plain below to see the Saxon fires glinting in the dark like so many jewelled fireflies, completely covering the field north of the wall. Despite her apathy, Iona's breath caught in her throat at the sheer number and size of the invading army. The force on the ice had been a mere percentage, and Iona could feel her heart start to race.

_It is not over yet, Ai._

The thought came to her through the fog, and her hand clenched reflexively, as if she held her sword. For the first time since Dagonet fell, she felt _something_ burning in her heart, something to hold onto, something other than the aching blackness that surrounded her.

She heard a commotion behind her and felt, rather than saw, Arthur arrive. For a long moment he stood beside her and looked out at the masses below, then turned and met the gaze of each of his knights. When he spoke, his voice held a note of finality that they had never heard before.

"Knights... my journey with you must end here. May God go with you." He turned and strode down the steps, Lancelot and Guinevere following after a few moments. Iona's gaze returned to the fires, but had caught the look passing between Gawain and Galahad, uncertainty and shock.

Iona felt neither.

Jols, ever the prepared one, appeared bearing their sword belts in the event of a possible night attack. With a whispered apology he handed Iona hers, expecting refusal from the wounded widow, but Iona thanked him quietly and buckled it on, feeling sure of herself and complete now that her sword-arm was whole, arranging Dagonet's cape so that it draped over her left arm and not her right.

Everything she had gone through up to that point had prepared her for that inevitable conflict, that moment when she stood with whoever would stand with her, against the Saxon army.

To get her revenge.


End file.
